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THE   DUST   FLOWER 


Books  By 
BASIL  KING 


The  Dust  Flower 

The  Empty  Sack 

Going  West 

The  City  of  Comrades 

Abraham's  Bosom 

The  Lifted  Veil 

The  Side  of  the  Angels 

The  Letter  of  the  Contract 

The  Way  Home 

The  Wild  Olive 

The  Inner  Shrine 

The  Street  Called  Straight 

Let  No  Man  Put  Asunder 

In  the  Garden  of  Charity 

The  Steps  of  Honor 

The  High  Heart 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
Established  1817 


THEN  SLOWLY,  SLOWLY  LETTY  SANK  ON  HER  KNEES,  BOWING  HER  HEAD 
ON  THE  HANDS  WHICH  DREW   HER  CLOSER         [See  p.  350] 


The 
DUST   FLOWER 


'By  BASIL   KING 

Author  of 
•the  empty  sack"  "the  inner  shrine"  etc. 


fFitk  Illustrations  by 
HIBBARD  V.  B.  KLINE 


Publishers 
Harper  &f  Brothers 

New  York  and  London 
c^CMXxn 


THE  DUST  FLOWER 

Copyright,   1922 

Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  U.  S.  A, 

First    Edition 

H-W 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Then  Slowly,  Slowlt  Lcmr  Sank  oir  Her  Knees, 
BowiKG  Her  Head  on  the  Hands  Which  Drew 
Her    Closer Frontispiece 

By  the  Time  He  Had  Finished  His  Heart  Was  a 
Little  Eased  and  Some  of  Her  Tenderness  Began 
TO  Flow  Toward  Him. ..m^. Facing  page      68 

The  Prince's  First  Word*  Were  Also  a  Distraction 
FROM  Terrors  and  Enchantments  Which  Made 
Her  Feel  Faint..., Facing  page    230 

**BuT  By  and  By  I  Creeps  Out  and  Down  the  Steps, 
AND    There    'E   was.    All   'Uddled   Every   Wye" 

Facing  page    32& 


213SS68 


THE  DUST   FLOWER 


The  Dust  Flower 

Qiapter  I 

IT  is  not  often  that  you  see  a  man  tear  his  hair,  but 
this  is  exactly  what  Rashleigh  Allerton  did.  He 
tore  it,  first,  because  of  being  under  the  stress  of  great 
agitation,  and  second,  because  he  had  it  to  tear — a 
thick,  black  shock  with  a  tendency  to  part  in  the 
middle,  but  brushed  carefully  to  one  side.  Seated  on 
the  extreme  edge  of  one  of  Miss  Walbrook's  strong, 
slender  armchairs,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  he  dug  his 
fingers  into  the  dark  mass  with  every  fresh  taunt 
from  his  fiancee. 

She  was  standing  oyer  him,  high-tempered,  im- 
perious. "So  it's  come  to  this,"  she  said,  with  deci- 
sion; "you've  got  to  choose  between  a  stupid,  vulgar 
k)t  of  men,  and  me." 

He  gritted  his  teeth,  "Do  you  expect  me  to  give 
up  all  my  friends?" 

"All  your  friends!  That's  another  matter.  I'm 
speaking  of  half  a  dozen  profligates,  of  whom  you 
seem  determined — I  must  say  it.  Rash;  you  force 
me  to  it— of  whom  you  seem  determined  to  be  one." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  a  slim,  good-looking,  well- 
dressed  figure  in  spite  of  the  tumbled  effect  imparted 
by  excitement  "But,  good  heavens,  Barbara,  what 
lave  I  been  doing?" 

3 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"1  don't  pretend  to  follow  you  there.  I  only  know 
the  condition  in  which  you  came  here  from  the  club 
last  night." 

He  was  honestly  bewildered.  "Came  here  from 
the  club  last  night  ?     Why — ^why,  I  wasn't  so  bad." 

Standing  away  from  him,  she  twirled  the  engage- 
ment solitaire  as  if  resisting  the  impulse  to  snatch 
it  off.  "That  would  be  a  question  of  point  of  view, 
wouldn't  it  ?     If  Aunt  Marion  hadn't  been  here " 

"I'd  only  had " 

"Please,  Rash !     I  don't  want  to  know  the  details." 

**But  I  want  you  to  know  them.  I've  told  you  a 
dozen  times  that  if  I  take  so  much  as  a  cocktail  or  a 
glass  of  sherry  I'm  all  in,  when  another  fellow  can 
take  ten  times  as  much  and  not " 

"Rash,  dear,  I  haven't  known  you  all  my  life  with- 
out being  quite  aware  that  you're  excitable.  'Crazy 
Rash'  we  used  to  call  you  when  we  were  children,  and 
Crazy  Rash  you  are  still.     But  that's  not  my  point." 

"Your  point  is  that  that  infernal  old  Aunt  Marion 
of  yours  doesn't  like  me." 

"She's  not  infernal,  and  she's  not  old,  but  it's  true 
that  she  doesn't  like  you.  All  the  more  reason,  then, 
that  when  she  gave  her  consent  to  our  engagement  on 
condition  that  you'd  give  up  your  disgusting 
habits " 

He  raced  away  from  her  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  turning  to  face  her  like  an  exasperated  animal 
at  bay. 

The  room  was  noteworthy,  and  of  curiously  feminine 
refinement.  Expressing  Miss  Marion  Walbrook  as  it 
did,    it    made    no    provision    for    the    coarse    and 

4 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

lounging  habits  of  men,  Miss  Walbrook's  world  being 
a  woman's  world.  All  was  straight,  slender,  erect, 
and  hard  in  the  way  that  women  like  for  occasions 
of  formality.  It  was  evident,  too,  that  Miss  Wal- 
brook's women  friends  were  serious,  if  civilized. 
There  was  no  place  here  for  the  slapdash,  smoking 
girl  of  the  present  day. 

The  tone  which  caught  your  eye  was  that  of  dusky 
gold,  thrown  out  first  from  the  Chinese  rug  in  im- 
perial 5relIow,  but  reflected  from  a  score  of  surfaces 
in  rich  old  satinwood,  discreetly  mounted  in  ormolu. 
On  the  Frenth-paneled  walls  there  was  but  one  pic- 
ture, Sargent's  portrait  of  Miss  Walbrook  herself, 
an  exquisite  creature,  with  the  straight,  thin  lines 
of  her  own  table  legs  and  the  grace  which  makes  no 
appeal  to  men.  Not  that  she  was  of  the  type  collo- 
quially known  as  a  "back  number,"  or  a  person  to 
be  ignored.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  a  pioneer  of 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  the  herald  of  an  epoch  when 
the  blundering  of  men  would  be  replaced  by  superior 
intelligence. 

You  must  know  these  facts  with  regard  to  Miss 
Walbrook,  the  aunt,  in  order  to  understand  Miss 
Walbrook,  the  niece.  The  latter  was  not  the  pupil  of  the 
former,  since  she  was  too  intense  and  high-handed 
to  be  the  pupil  of  anyone.  Nevertheless  she  had 
caught  from  her  wealthy  and  public-spirited  relative 
certain  prepossessions  which  guided  her  points  of  view. 

Without  having  beauty,  Miss  Barbara  Walbrook 
impressed  you  as  Someone,  and  as  Someone  dressed 
by  the  most  expensive  houses  in  New  York.  For 
beauty  her  lips  were  too  full,  her  eyes  too  slanting, 

5 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

and  Her  delicate  profile  too  much  like  that  of  an  ancient 
Egyptian  princess.  The  princess  was  perhaps  what 
was  most  underscored  in  her  character,  the  being  who 
by  some  indefinable  divine  right  is  entitled  to  her  own 
way.  She  didn't  specially  claim  her  way;  she  only 
couldn't  bear  not  getting  it. 

Rashleigh  Allerton,  being  of  the  easy-going  type, 
had  no  objection  to  her  getting  her  own  way,  but  he 
sometimes  rebelled  against  her  manner  of  taking  it. 
So  rebelling  now,  he  tried  to  give  her  to  understand 
that  he  was  master. 

"If  you  marry  me,  Barbe,  you'll  have  to  take  me  as 
I  am — disgusting  habits  and  all." 

It  was  the  wrong  tone,  the  whip  to  the  filly  that 
should  have  been  steered  gently. 

"But  I  suppose  there's  no  law  to  compel  me  to 
marry  you." 

"Only  the  law  of  honor.** 

Her  whole  personality  was  aflame.  "You  talk  of 
honor!" 

"Yes  I  talk  of  it.    Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  it?" 

"Would  you  marry  a  man  who  didn't  ?" 

"I  haven't  married  any  one — ^as  yet." 

"But  you're  going  to  marry  me,  I  presume." 

"Considering  the  facts,  that's  a  good  deal  in  the 
way  of  presumption,  isn't  it?" 

They  reached  the  place  to  which  they  came  once 
in  every  few  weeks,  where  each  had  the  impulse  to 
hurt  the  other  cruelly. 

"If  it's  so  much  presumption  as  all  that,"  he  de- 
manded, "what's  the  meaning  of  that  ring?" 

6 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"Oh,  I  don't  have  to  go  on  wearing  it."  Crossing 
the  room  she  pulled  it  off  and  held  it  out  toward  him. 
*'Do  you  want  it  back  ?" 

He  shrank  away  from  her.  "Don't  be  a  fool, 
Barbe.    You  may  go  too  far." 

"That's  what  I'm  afraid  of — ^that  I've  gone  too 
far  already." 

"In  what  way?" 

"In  the  way  that's  brought  us  face  to  face  like  this. 
If  I'd  never  promised  to  marry  you  I  shouldn't  now 
have  to — ^to  reconsider." 

"Oh,  so  that's  it.    You're  reconsidering." 

"Don't  you  see  that  I  have  to?  If  you  make  me 
as  unhappy  as  you  can  before  marriage,  what'll  it  be 
afterward?" 

"And  how  happy  are  you  making  me  ?" 

Holding  the  ring  between  the  thumb  and  forefinger 
of  the  right  hand,  she  played  at  putting  it  back,  with- 
out doing  it.  "So  there  you  are !  Isn't  that  another 
reason  for  reconsidering — for  both  of  us  ?" 

"Don't  you  care  anything  about  me  ?" 

"You  make  it  difficult — after  such  an  exhibition  as 
that  of  last  night,  right  before  Aunt  Marion.  Can't 
you  imagine  that  there  are  situations  in  which  I  feel 
ashamed?" 

It  was  then  that  he  spoke  the  words  which  changed 
the  current  of  his  life.  "And  can't  you  imagine  that 
there  are  situations  in  which  I  resent  being  badgered 
by  a  bitter-tongued  old  maid,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
girl — "  He  knew  how  "crazy"  he  was,  but  the 
habit  of  getting  beyond  his  own  control  was  one 
of  long  standing — "to  say  nothing  of  a  girl  who's 

7 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

more  like  an  old  maid  than  a  woman  going  to  be 
married." 

With  a  renewed  attempt  at  being  master  he  pointed 
at  the  ring  which  she  was  still  holding  within  an  inch 
of  its  finger.    "Put  that  back." 

"I  think  not." 

"Then  if  you  don't " 

"Well— what?" 

Plunging  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  coat, 
he  began  tearing  up  and  down  the  room.  "Look 
here,  Barbe.    This  kind  of  thing  can't  possibly  go  on." 

"Which  is  what  I'm  trying  to  tell  you,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Very  well,  then;  we  can  stop  it." 

"Certainly — in  one  way." 

"The  way  of  getting  married,  with  no  more  shilly- 
shallying about  it." 

"On  the  principle  that  if  you're  hanging  over  a 
precipice  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  fall." 

He  continued  to  race  up  and  down  the  room,  all 
nerves  and  frenzy.    "Don't  we  care  about  each  other  ?" 

She  answered  carefully.  "I  think  you  care  about 
me  to  the  extent  that  you  believe  I'd  make  a  good 
mistress  of  the  house  your  mother  left  you,  and 
which,  you  say,  is  like  an  empty  sepulcher.  If  you 
didn't  have  it  on  your  hands,  I  don't  imagine  it  would 
have  occurred  to  you  to  ask  me." 

"Well,  that's  all  right.    Now  what  about  you  ?" 

"You've  already  answered  that  question  for  your- 
self." She  stiffened  haughtily.  "I'm  an  old  maid. 
I  haven't  been  brought  up  by  Aunt  Marion  for  noth- 
ing. I've  an  old  maid's  ways  and  outlooks  and  habits. 
I  resented  your  saying  it  a  minute  ago,  and  yet  it's 

8 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

true.  I've  known  for  years  that  it  was  true.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair  for  me  to  marry  any  man.  So  here 
it  is,  Rash."  Crossing  the  floor-space  she  held  out 
the  ring  again.  "You  might  as  well  take  it  first  as 
last." 

He  drew  back  from  her,  his  features  screwed  up 
like  those  of  a  tragic  mask.    "Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Do  I  seem  to  be  making  a  joke?" 

Averting  his  face,  he  swept  the  mere  sight  of  the 
ring  away  from  him.    "I  won't  touch  the  thing." 

"And  I  can't  keep  it.    So  there !" 

It  fell  with  a  little  shivery  sound  to  a  bare  spot  on 
the  floor,  rolling  to  the  edge  of  a  rug,  where  it  stopped. 
Each  looked  down  at  it. 

"So  you  mean  to  send  me  to  the  devil !  All  right ! 
Just  watch  and  you'll  see  me  go." 

She  was  walking  away  from  him,  but  turned  again. 
"If  you  mean  by  that  that  you  put  the  responsibility 
for  your  abominable  life  on  me " 

"Abominable  life!  Me!  Just  because  I'm  not  one 
of  the  white-blooded  Nancies  which  your  aunt  thinks 
the  only  ones  fit  to  be  called  men " 

But  he  couldn't  go  on.  He  was  choking.  The  sole 
relief  to  his  indignation  was  in  once  more  tearing 
round  the  room,  while  Miss  Walbrook  moved  to  the 
fluted  white  mantelpiece,  where,  with  her  foot  resting 
on  the  attenuated  Hunt  Diedrich  andirons  she  bowed 
her  head  against  an  attenuated  Htmt  Diedrich  antelope 
in  bronze. 

She  was  not  softened  or  repentant.  She  knew  she 
would  become  so  later;  but  she  knew  too  that  her 
tempers  had  to  work  themselves  off  by  degrees.    Their 

9 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

quarrels  having  hitherto  been  rendered  worth  while 
by  their  reconciliations,  she  took  it  for  granted  that 
the  same  thing  would  happen  once  more  though,  as 
she  expressed  it  to  herself,  she  would  have  died  before 
taking  the  first  step.  The  obvious  thing  was  for  him 
to  pick  up  the  ring  from  off  the  floor,  bring  it  to  her 
humbly  while  her  back  was  turned  on  him,  and  beseech 
her  to  allow  him  to  slip  it  on  where  it  belonged; 
whereupon  she  would  consider  as  to  whether  she  would 
do  so  or  not.  In  her  present  frame  of  mind,  so  she 
told  herself,  she  would  not.  Nothing  would  induce 
her  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  He  had  betrayed  the 
fact  that  he  knew  something  as  to  which  she  was 
desperately  sensitive,  which  other  people  knew,  but 
which  she  had  always  supposed  to  have  escaped  his 
observation — ^that  she  was  like  an  old  maid. 

She  was.  She  was  only  twenty-five,  but  she  had 
been  like  an  old  maid  at  fifteen.  It  had  been  a  joke 
till  she  was  twenty,  after  which  it  had  continued  as  a 
joke  to  her  friends,  but  a  grief  to  herself.  She  was 
distinguished,  aristocratic,  intellectual,  accomplished, 
and  Aunt  Marion  would  probably  see  to  it  that  she 
was  left  tolerably  well  off ;  nevertheless  she  had  picked 
up  from  her  aunt,  or  perhaps  had  inherited  from  the 
same  source,  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  woman  who 
would  probably  not  marry.  Because  she  knew  it  and 
bewailed  it,  it  had  come  like  a  staggering  blow  to 
learn  that  Rash  knew  it,  and  perhaps  bewailed  it  too. 
The  least  he  could  do  to  atone  for  that  offense  would 
be  to  beg  her,  to  implore  her  on  his  bended  knees,  to 
wear  his  ring  again ;  and  she  might  not  do  it  even  then. 

The  dramatic  experience  was  worth  waiting  for, 

lO 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

however,  and  so  with  spirit  churning  she  leaned  her 
hot  brow  against  the  thin,  cool  flank  of  Hunt  Died- 
rich's  antelope.  She  knew  by  the  fierce  grinding  of 
his  steps  on  the  far  side  of  the  room  that  he  hadn't 
yet  picked  up  the  ring;  but  there  was  no  hurry  as  to 
that.  Since  she  would  never,  never  forgive  him  for 
knowing  what  she  thought  he  didn't  know — forgive 
him  in  her  heart,  that  was  to  say — ^not  if  she  married 
him  ten  times  over,  or  to  the  longest  day  he  lived, 
there  was  plenty  of  time  for  reaching  friendly  terms 
again.  Her  anger  had  not  yet  blown  ofif,  nor  had  she 
stabbed  him  hard  enough.  As  with  most  people  sub- 
ject to  storms  of  hot  temper,  stabs,  given  and  received, 
were  all  in  her  day's  work.  They  relieved  for  the 
moment  the  pressure  of  emotion,  leaving  no  permanent 
ill-will  behind  them. 

She  heard  him  come  to  a  halt,  but  did  not  turn  to 
look  at  him. 

"So  it's  all  over!" 

As  a  peg  on  which  to  hang  a  retort  the  words  would 
serve  as  well  as  any  others.    "It  seems  so,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"And  you  don't  care  whether  I  go  to  the  devil  or 
not?" 

"What's  the  good  of  my  caring  when  you  seem 
determined  to  do  it  anyhow  ?" 

He  allowed  a  good  minute  to  pass  before  saying, 
"Well,  if  you  don't  marry  me  some  other  woman  will." 

"Very  likely;  and  if  you  make  her  a  promise  to 
reform  I  hope  you'll  keep  your  word." 

"She  won't  be  likely  to  exact  any  such  condition." 

"Then  you'll  probably  be  happier  with  her  than 
you  could  have  been  with  me." 
2  II 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Having  opened  up  the  way  for  him  to  make  some 
protest  to  which  she  could  have  remained  obdurate, 
she  waited  for  it  to  come.  But  nothing  did  come. 
Had  she  turned,  she  would  have  seen  that  he  had 
grown  white,  that  his  hands  were  clenched  and  his 
lips  compressed  after  a  way  he  had  and  that  his  wild, 
harum-scarum  soul  was  worked  up  to  an  extraordinary 
intensity;  but  she  didn't  turn.  She  was  waiting  for 
him  to  pick  up  the  ring,  creep  along  behind  her,  and 
seize  the  hand  resting  on  the  mantelpiece,  according 
to  the  ritual  she  had  mentally  foreordained.  But  with- 
out stooping  or  taking  a  step  he  spoke  again. 

"I  picked  up  a  book  at  the  club  the  other  day." 

Not  being  interested,  she  made  no  response. 

"It  was  the  life  of  an  English  writing-guy." 

Though  wondering  what  he  was  working  up  to,  she 
still  held  her  peace. 

"Gissing,  the  fellow's  name  was.  Ever  hear  of 
him?" 

The  question  being  direct,  she  murmured:  "Yes; 
of  course.    What  of  it  ?" 

"Ever  hear  how  he  got  married  ?" 

"Not  that  I  remember." 

"When  something  went  wrong — I've  forgotten 
what — ^he  went  out  into  the  street  with  a  vow.  It 
was  a  vow  to  marry  the  first  woman  he  met  who'd 
marry  him." 

A  shiver  went  through  her.  It  was  just  such  a 
foolhardy  thing  as  Rashleigh  himself  was  likely  to 
attempt.  She  was  afraid.  She  was  afraid,  and  yet 
reangered  just  when  her  wrath  was  beginning  to  die 
down. 

12 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"And  he  did  it!"  he  cried,  with  a  force  in  which 
it  was  impossible  for  her  not  to  catch  a  note  of  per- 
sonal implication. 

It  was  unlikely  that  he  could  be  trying  to  trap  her  by 
any  such  cheap  melodramatic  threat  as  this;  and 
yet 

When  several  minutes  had  gone  by  in  a  silence  which 
struck  her  soon  as  awesome,  she  turned  slowly  round, 
only  to  find  herself  alone. 

She  ran  into  the  hall,  but  there  was  no  one  there. 
He  must  have  gone  downstairs.  Leaning  over  the 
baluster,  she  called  to  him. 

"Rash!    Rash!" 

But  only  Wildgoose,  the  manservant,  answered 
from  below.  "Mr.  Allerton  had  just  left  the  'ouse, 
miss," 


Chapter  II 

WHILE  Allerton  and  Miss  Walbrook  had  been 
conducting  this  debate  a  dissimilar  yet  parallel 
scene  was  enacted  in  a  mean  house  in  a  mean  street 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Park.  Viewed  from  the  out- 
side, the  house  was  one  of  those  survivals  of  more 
primitive  times  which  you  will  still  run  across  in  the 
richest  as  well  as  in  the  poorest  districts  of  New  York. 
A  tiny  wooden  structure  of  two  low  stories,  it  con- 
nected with  the  sidewalk  by  a  flight  of  steps  of  a  third 
of  the  height  of  the  whole  facade.  Flat-roofed  and 
clap-boarded,  it  had  once  been  painted  gray  with  white 
facings,  but  time,  weather,  and  soot  had  defaced  these 
neat  colors  to  a  hideous  pepper-and-salt. 

Within,  a  toy  entry  led  directly  to  a  toy  stairway, 
and  by  a  door  on  the  left  into  a  toy  living-room.  In 
the  toy  living-room  a  man  of  forty-odd  was  saying  to 
a  girl  of  perhaps  twenty-three, 

*'So  you'll  not  give  it  up,  won't  you?'* 

The  girl  cringed  as  the  man  stood  over  her,  but 
pressing  her  hand  over  something  she  had  slipped 
within  the  opening  at  the  neck  of  her  cheap  shirtwaist, 
she  maintained  her  ground.  The  face  she  raised  to 
him  was  at  once  terrified  and  determined,  tremulous 
with  tears  and  yet  defiant  with  some  new  exercise  of 
will  power. 

"No,  I'll  not  give  it  up." 

"We'll  see." 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

He  said  it  quietly  enough,  the  menace  being  less  in 
his  tone  than  in  himself.  He  was  so  plainly  the  cheap 
sport  bully  that  there  could  have  been  nothing  but  a 
menace  in  his  personality.  Flashy  male  good  looks 
got  a  kind  of  brilliancy  from  a  set  of  big,  strong  teeth 
the  whiter  for  their  contrast  with  a  black,  brigand-like 
mustache.  He  was  so  well  dressed  in  his  cheap  sport 
way  as  to  be  out  of  keeping  with  the  dilapidation  of 
the  room,  in  which  there  was  hardly  a  table  or  a  chair 
which  stood  firmly  on  its  legs,  or  a  curtain  or  a  cover- 
ing which  didn't  reek  with  dust  and  germs.  A  worn, 
thin  carpet  gaped  in  holes;  what  had  once  been  a 
sofa  stood  against  a  wall,  shockingly  disemboweled. 
Through  a  door  ajar  one  glimpsed  a  toy  kitchen  where 
the  stove  had  lost  a  leg  and  was  now  supported  by  a 
brick.  It  was  plain  that  the  master  of  the  house  was 
one  of  those  for  whom  any  lair  is  sufficient  as  a  home 
as  long  as  he  can  cut  a  dash  outside. 

Quiveringly,  as  if  in  terror  of  a  blow,  the  girl  ex- 
plained herself  breathlessly :  "The  castin'  director  sent 
for  me  just  as  I  was  makin'  tracks  for  home.  He  ast 
me  if  this  was  the  on'y  suit  I  had.  When  I  'lowed 
it  was,  he  just  said  he  couldn't  use  me  any  more  till 
I  got  a  new  one." 

The  man  took  the  tone  of  superior  masculine  knowl- 
edge. "That  wasn't  nothin*  but  bull.  What  if  he  does 
chuck  you  ?  I  know  every  movin'  picture  studio  round 
N'York.  I'll  get  you  in  somewheres  else.  Come  now, 
Letty.  Fork  out.  I  need  the  berries.  I  owe  some  one. 
I  was  only  waitin'  for  you  to  come  home." 

She  clutched  her  breast  more  tightly.  "I  gotta  have 
a  new  suit  anyhow." 

15 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"Well,  I'll  buy  you  a  new  suit  when  I  get  the  bones. 
Didn't  I  give  you  this  one?" 

She  continued,  still  breathlessly :  "Two  years  ago — 
a  marked-down  misses'  it  was  even  then — all  right 
if  I  was  on'y  sixteen — but  now  when  I'm  near  twenty- 
three — and  it's  in  rags  anyhow — ^and  all  out  of  style — 
and  in  pitchers  you've  gotta  be " 

"They'se  plenty  pitchers  where  they  want  that  char- 
acter— ^to  pass  in  a  crowd,  and  all  that." 

"To  pass  in  a  crowd  once  or  twice,  yes ;  but  when 
all  you  can  do  is  to  pass  in  a  crowd,  and  wear  the  same 
old  rig  every  time  you  pass  in  it " 

He  cut  her  protests  short  by  saying,  with  an  air  of 
finality:  "Well,  anyhow  I've  got  to  have  the  bucks. 
Can't  go  out  till  I  get  'em.    So  hand !" 

With  lips  compressed  and  eyes  swimming,  she  shook 
her  head. 

"Better  do  it.  You'll  be  sorry  if  you  don't.  I  can 
pass  you  that  tip  straight  now." 

"If  you  was  laughed  at  every  time  you  stepped  onto 
the  lot " 

"There's  worse  things  than  bein'  laughed  at.  I  can 
tell  you  that  straight  now." 

"Nothin's  worse  than  bein'  laughed  at,  not  for  a 
girl  of  my  age  there  ain't." 

Watching  his  opportunity  he  caught  her  off  her 
guard.  Her  eyes  having  wandered  to  the  coat  she 
had  just  taken  off,  a  worn  gray  thing  with  edgings  of 
worn  gray  squirrel  fur,  he  wrenched  back  with  an 
unexpected  movement  the  hand  that  clutched  some- 
thing to  her  breast,  thrust  two  fingers  of  his  other  hand 
within  her  corsage,  and  extracted  her  pay-envelope. 

i6 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

It  took  her  by  such  surprise  that  she  was  Hlce  a  mad 
thing,  throwing  herself  upon  him  and  battling  for  her 
treasure,  though  any  possibility  of  her  getting  it  back 
from  him  was  hopeless.  It  was  so  easy  for  him  to 
catch  her  by  the  wrists  and  twist  them  that  he  laughed 
while  he  was  doing  it. 

"You  little  cat !  You  see  what  you  bring  on  your- 
self. And  you're  goin'  to  get  worse.  I  can  tell  you 
that  straight  now." 

Still  twisting  her  arms  till  she  writhed,  though 
without  a  moan  or  a  cry,  he  backed  her  toward  the 
disemboweled  sofa,  on  whose  harsh,  exposed  springs 
she  fell.    Then  he  sprang  on  her  a  new  surprise. 

"How  dare  you  wear  them  rings  ?  They  was  your 
mother's  rings.  I  bought  and  paid  for  'em.  They're 
mine." 

"Oh,  don't  take  them  off,"  she  begged.  "You  can 
keep  the  money " 

"Sure  I  can  keep  the  money,"  he  grinned,  wrench- 
ing from  her  fingers  the  plain  gold  band  he  had  given 
her  mother  as  a  wedding  ring,  as  well  as  another, 
bigger,  broader,  showier,  and  set  with  two  infinitesimal 
white  points  claiming  to  be  diamonds. 

Though  he  had  released  her  hands,  she  now 
stretched  them  out  toward  him  pleadingly.  "Aw,  give 
'em  back  to  me.  They'se  all  I've  got  in  the  world  to 
care  about — just  because  she  wore  'em.  You  can  take 
anything  else  I've  got " 

"All  right,  then.    I'll  take  this." 

With  a  deftness  which  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  professor  of  legerdemain  he  unbuckled  the  strap  of 
her  little  wrist-watch,  putting  the  thing  into  his  pocket. 

17 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"I  give  that  to  your  mother  too.    You  don't  need  it, 
and  it  may  be  useful  to  me.    What  else  have  you  got  ?" 

She  struggled  to  her  feet.  He  was  growing  more 
dangerous  than  she  had  ever  known  him  to  be  even 
when  he  had  beaten  her. 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  else." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have.  You  gotta  purse.  I  seen  you 
with  it.    Where  is  it?" 

^  The  fear  in  her  eyes  sent  his  toward  her  jacket, 
thrown  on  the  chair  when  she  had  come  in.  With  an 
**Ah !"  of  satisfaction  he  pounced  on  it.  As  he  held 
it  upside  down  and  shook  it,  a  little  leather  wallet 
clattered  to  the  floor.  She  sprang  for  it,  but  again 
he  was  too  quick  for  her. 

"So!"  he  snarled,  with  his  glittering  grin.  "You 
thought  you'd  get  it,  did  you?"  He  rattled  the  few 
coins,  copper  and  silver,  into  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and 
unfolded  a  one-dollar  bill.  "You  must  owe  me  this 
money.  Who's  give  you  bed  and  board  for  the  last 
ten  year,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  How  much  have  you  ever 
paid  me?" 

"Only  all  I  ever  earned — ^which  you  stole  from  me." 

"Stole  from  you,  did  I?  Well,  you  won't  fling 
that  in  my  face  any  more."  He  handed  her  her  coat. 
"Put  that  on,"  he  commanded. 

"What  for?"  She  held  it  without  obeying  the 
order.  "What's  the  good  o'  goin'  out  and  me  without 
a  cent  ?" 

"Put  it  on." 

Her  lip  quivered;  she  began  to  suspect  his  inten- 
tion.   "I  do'  wanta." 

"Oh,  very  well!     Please  yourself.     You  got  your 
i8 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

hat  on  already."     Seizing  her  by  the  shoulders  he 
steered  her  toward  the  door.    "Now  march." 

Though  she  refused  to  march,  it  was  not  difficult 
for  him  to  force  her. 

"This'll  teach  you  to  valyer  a  good  home  when  you 
got  one.    You'll  deserve  to  find  the  next  one  different." 
She  almost  shrieked:    "You're  not  going  to  turn 
me  out?" 

"Well,  what  does  it  look  as  if  I  was  doin'  ?" 
"I  won't  go!    I  won't  go!    Where  can  I  go?" 
"What  Fm  doin'  '11  help  you  to  find  out." 
He  had  her  now  in  the  entry,  where  in  spite  of  her 
struggles  he  had  no  difficulty  in  unlocking  the  door, 
pushing  her  out,  and  relocking  the  door  behind  her. 
"Lemme  in!    Lemme  in!    Oh,  please,  lemme  in!" 
He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  living-room,  listening 
with  pleasure  and  smiling  his  brigand's  smile.     He 
was  not  as  bad  as  you  might  think.     He  did  mean  to 
let  her  in  eventually.     His   smile   and  his  pleasure 
sprang  purely  from  the  fact  that  his  lesson  was  so 
successful.    With  this  in  her  mind,  she  wouldn't  with- 
stand him  a  second  time. 

She  rattled  the  door  by  the  handle.  She  beat  upon 
the  panels.    She  implored. 

Still  smiling,  he  filled  his  pipe.  Let  her  keep  It  up. 
It  would  do  her  good.  He  remembered  that  once  when 
he  had  turned  her  mother  out  at  night,  she  had  sat 
on  the  steps  till  he  let  her  in  at  dawn  before  the  police 
looked  round  that  way.  History  would  repeat  itself. 
The  daughter  would  do  the  same.  He  was  only  giving 
her  the  lesson  she  deserved. 

Meanwhile  she  was  experiencing  a  new  sensation, 
19 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

that  of  outrage.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was 
swept  by  pride  in  revolt.  She  hadn't  known  that  any 
such  emotion  could  get  hold  of  her.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  she  hadn't  known  that  so  strong  a  support  to  the 
inner  man  lay  within  the  depths  of  human  nature. 
Accustomed  to  being  cowed,  she  had  hardly  under- 
stood that  there  was  any  other  way  to  feel.  Only 
within  a  day  or  two  had  something  which  you  or  I 
would  have  called  spirit,  but  for  which  she  had  no 
name,  disturbed  her  with  unexpected  flashes,  like  those 
of  summer  lightning. 

While  waiting  for  the  camera,  for  instance,  in  the 
street  scene  in  "The  Man  with  the  Emerald  Eye,"  a 
"fresh  thing"  had  said,  with  a  wink  at  her  companions, 
"Say,  did  you  copy  that  suit  from  a  pattern  in  Chic?"  , 

Letty  had  so  carefully  minded  her  own  business 
and  tried  to  be  nice  to  every  one  that  the  titter  which 
went  round  at  her  expense  hurt  her  with  a  wound 
impelling  her  to  reply,  "No;  I  ordered  it  at  Margot's. 
You  look  as  if  you  got  your  things  there  too,  don't 
you?"  Nevertheless,  she  was  so  stung  by  the  sarcasm 
that  the  commendation  she  overheard  later,  that  the 
Gravely  kid  had  a  tongue,  didn't  bring  any  consolation. 

Without  knowing  that  what  she  felt  now  was  an 
intensified  form  of  the  same  rebellion  against  scorn, 
she  knew  it  was  not  consistent  with  some  inborn  sense 
of  human  dignity  to  stand  there  pleading  to  be  let  into 
a  house  from  which  she  was  locked  out,  even  though 
it  was  the  only  spot  on  earth  she  could  call  home.  Still 
less  was  it  possible  when,  round  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
a  crowd  began  to  gather,  jeering  at  her  passionate 
beseechings.     For  the  most  part  they  were  children, 

20 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Slavic,  Semitic,  Italian.  Amid  their  cries  of,  "Go  it, 
Sis !"  now  in  English  and  now  in  strange  equivalents 
of  Latin,  or  Polish,  or  even  Hebraic  origin,  she  was 
suddenly  arrested  by  the  consciousness  of  personal 
humiliation. 

She  turned  from  the  door  to  face  the  street.  It  was 
one  of  those  streets  not  rare  in  New  York  which  the 
civic  authorities  abandon  in  despair.  A  gash  of  chil- 
dren and  refuse  cut  straight  from  river  to  Park,  it 
got  its  chief  movement  from  push-carts  of  fruit  and 
other  foods,  while  the  "wash"  of  five  hundred  families 
blew  its  banners  overhead.  Vendors  of  all  kinds 
uttered  their  nasal  or  raucous  cries,  in  counterpoint  to 
the  treble  screams  of  little  boys  and  girls. 

Letty  had  always  hated  it,  but  it  was  something 
more  than  hatred  which  she  felt  for  it  now.  Beyond 
the  children  adults  were  taking  a  rest  from  the  hawk- 
ing profession  to  comment  with  grins  on  the  sight  of 
a  girl  locked  out  of  her  own  home.  She  was  prob- 
ably a  very  bad  girl  to  call  for  that  kind  of  treatment, 
and  therefore  one  on  whom  they  should  spend  some 
derision. 

They  were  spending  it  as  she  turned.  It  was  an 
experience  on  a  large  scale  of  what  the  girl  in  the 
studio  had  inflicted.  She  was  a  thing  to  be  scorned, 
and  of  all  the  hardships  in  the  world  scorn,  now  that 
she  was  aware  of  it,  was  the  one  she  could  least  sub- 
mit to. 

So  pride  came  to  her  rescue.  Throwing  her  coat 
across  her  arm  she  went  down  the  steps,  passed 
through  the  hooting  children,  one  or  two  of  whom 
pulled  her  by  the  skirt,  passed  through  the  bearded 

21 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Jews,  and  the  bronzed  Italians,  and  the  flat-nosed 
Slavs,  passed  through  the  women  who  had  come  out 
on  the  sidewalk  at  this  accentuation  of  the  daily  din, 
passed  through  the  barrows  and  handcarts  and  piles  of 
cabbages  and  fruit,  and  went  her  way. 


Chapter  III 

EXACTLY  at  this  minute  Rashleigh  Allerton  was 
standing  outside  Miss  Walbrook's  door,  glancing 
up  and  down  Fifth  Avenue  and  over  at  the  Park. 
It  was  the  hour  after  luncheon  when  pedestrians  be- 
come numerous.  For  his  purpose  they  could  not  be 
very  numerous ;  they  must  be  reasonably  spaced  apart. 

And  already  a  veritable  stream  of  women  had  begun 
to  flow  down  the  long,  gentle  slope,  while  a  few,  like 
fish,  were  stemming  the  current  by  making  progress 
against  it.  None  of  them  was  his  "affair."  Young, 
old,  short,  tall,  blond,  brunette,  they  were  without 
exception  of  the  class  indiscriminately  lumped  as 
ladies.  Since  you  couldn't  go  to  the  devil  because  you 
had  married  a  lady,  even  on  the  wild  hypothesis  that 
one  of  these  sophisticated  beings  would  without  intro- 
duction or  formality  marry  him,  it  would  be  better  not 
to  let  himself  in  for  the  absurdity  of  the  proposal. 
When  there  was  a  break  in  the  procession,  he  darted 
across  the  street  and  made  his  way  into  the  Park. 

Here  there  was  no  one  in  sight  as  far  as  the  path 
continued  without  a  bend.  He  was  going  altogether 
at  a  venture.  Round  the  curve  of  the  woodland  way 
there  might  swing  at  any  second  the  sibyl  who  would 
point  his  life  downward. 

He  was  aware,  however,  that  in  sibyls  he  had  a 
preference.  If  she  was  to  send  him  to  the  devil,  she 
must  be  of  the  type  which  he  qualified  as  a  "drab." 

23 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Without  knowing  the  dictionary  meaning  of  the  word, 
he  felt  that  it  impHed  whatever  would  contrast  most 
revoltingly  with  Barbara  Walbrook.  Seeing  with  her 
own  eyes  to  what  she  had  driven  him,  her  heart  would 
be  wrung.  That  was  all  he  asked  for,  the  wringing  of 
her  heart.  It  might  be  a  mad  thing  for  him  to  punish 
himself  so  terribly  just  to  punish  her,  but  he  was  mad 
anyhow.  Madness  gave  him  the  satisfaction  which 
some  men  got  from  thrift,  and  others  from  cleverness. 
He  would  keep  the  vow  with  which  he  had  slipped  out 
of  Miss  Walbrook's  drawing  room.  It  was  all  that 
life  had  left  for  him. 

That  was,  he  wouldn't  pick  and  choose.  He  would 
take  them  as  they  came.  He  had  not  stipulated  with 
himself  that  she  must  be  a  "drab."  It  was  only  what 
he  hoped.  She  must  be  the  first  woman  he  met  who 
would  marry  him.  Age,  appearance,  refinement,  vul- 
garity were  not  to  be  considered.  Picking  and  choos- 
ing on  his  part  would  only  take  his  destiny  out  of  the 
hands  of  Fate,  where  he  preferred  that  it  should  lie. 

Had  any  one  passed  him,  he  would  have  seemed  the 
more  perturbed  because  of  his  being  so  well-dressed. 
He  was  one  of  the  few  New  Yorkers  as  careful  of 
appearances  as  many  Londoners.  With  the  finish  that 
comes  of  studied  selection  in  hat,  stick,  and  gloves,  as 
well  as  all  small  accessories  of  the  costliest,  he  might 
have  been  going  to  or  coming  from  a  wedding. 

He  was  imposing,  therefore,  to  a  short,  stout,  elderly 
woman  with  whom  he  suddenly  found  himself  face 
to  face  as  the  path  took  a  sharp  sweep  to  the  south. 
The  shrubs  which  had  kept  them  hidden  from  each 
other  gave  place  here  to  open  stretches  of  lawn.  When 

24 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Allerton  paused  and  lifted  his  hat,  the  woman  naturally 
paused,  too. 

She  was  a  red- faced  woman  crowned  with  a  bonnet 
of  the  style  introduced  by  Mrs.  Langtry  in  1878,  but 
worn  on  this  occasion  some  degrees  off  center.  On 
her  arm  she  carried  a  flat  basket  of  which  the  contents, 
decently  covered  with  a  towel,  might  have  been  freshly 
laundered  shirts.  Being  stopped  by  a  gentleman  of 
Allerton's  impressiveness  and  plainly  suffering  expres- 
sion, her  face  grew  motherly  and  sympathetic. 

"Madam,  I  wish  to  ask  if  you'll  marry  me?" 

Even  a  dull  brain  couldn't  fail  to  catch  words 
hammered  out  with  this  force  of  precision.  The 
woman  didn't  wait  to  have  them  repeated.  Dropping 
her  basket  as  it  was,  she  took  to  flight.  Flight  was 
the  word.  A  modern  Atalanta  of  Wellesley  or  Bryn 
Mawr  might  have  envied  the  chamois  leaps  which 
took  the  good  creature  across  the  grass  to  the  pro- 
tection of  a  man  with  a  lawn-mower. 

Allerton  couldn't  pause  to  watch  her,  for  a  new 
sibyl  was  advancing.  To  his  disgust  rather  than  not, 
she  was  young  and  pretty,  a  nursemaid  pushing  a 
baby-cart  into  which  a  young  man  of  two  was  strapped. 
While  far  more  likely  to  take  him  than  the  stout  old 
party  still  skipping  the  greensward  like  a  mountain 
roe,  she  would  be  much  less  plausible  as  a  reason  for 
going  to  the  evil  one.  But  a  vow  was  a  vow,  and  he 
was  in  for  it. 

His  approach  was  the  same  as  on  the  previous  occa- 
sion. Lifting  his  hat  ceremoniously,  he  said  with  the 
same  distinctness  of  utterance,  "Madam,  I  wish  to  ask 
if  you'll  marry  me?" 

25 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

The  girl,  who  had  paused  when  he  did,  leaned  on 
the  pusher  of  her  go-cart,  studying  him  calmly.  Chew- 
ing something  with  a  slow,  rotary  movement  of  the 
lips  and  chin,  she  broke  the  action  with  a  snap  before 
quite  completing  the  circle,  to  begin  all  over  again. 
"Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?"  was  her  quiet  response. 

"If  you  please." 

She  studied  him  again,  with  the  same  semi-circular 
motion  of  the  jaw.  She  might  have  been  weighing 
his  proposal. 

"Say,  is  this  one  of  them  club  initiation  stunts,  or 
have  you  just  got  a  noive  ?" 

"Am  I  to  take  that  as  a  yes  or  a  no?" 

"And  am  I  to  take  you  as  one  of  them  smart- Alecks, 
or  a  coily-headed  nut?" 

He  saw  a  way  out.  "I'm  generally  considered  a 
curly-headed  nut." 

"Then  it's  me  for  the  exit-in-case-of-fire,  so  ta-ta." 
She  laughed  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder.  "Wish 
you  luck  with  your  next." 

But  fate  was  already  on  him  in  another  form.  A 
lady  of  fifty  or  thereabouts  was  coming  up  the  path, 
refined,  sedate,  mistress  of  herself,  the  one  type  of  all 
others  most  difficult  to  accost.  All  the  same  he  must 
do  it.  He  must  keep  on  doing  it  till  some  one  yielded 
to  his  suit.  The  rebuffs  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
jected did  no  more  than  inflame  his  will. 

Approaching  the  new  sibyl  with  the  same  ceremoni- 
ousness,  he  repeated  the  same  words  in  the  same  pre- 
cise tone.  The  lady  stood  off,  eyed  him  majestically 
through  a  lorgnette,  and  spoke  with  a  force  which 
came  from  quietude. 

26 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"I  know  who  you  are.  You're  Rashleigh  Allerton. 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  with  a  shame  that  would 
strike  you  to  the  ground.  I'm  a  friend  of  Miss 
Marion  Walbrook's.  I'm  on  my  way  to  see  her  and 
shall  not  mention  this  encounter.  We  work  on  the 
same  committee  of  the  League  for  the  Suppression  of 
Men's  Clubs.  The  lamentable  state  in  which  I  see 
you  convinces  me  once  more  of  the  need  of  our  work, 
if  our  men  are  to  become  as  we  hope  to  see  them.  I 
bid  you  a  good  afternoon." 

With  the  dignity  of  a  queen  she  passed  on  and  out 
of  sight,  leaving  him  with  the  sting  of  a  whiplash  on 
his  face. 

But  the  name  of  Miss  Walbrook,  connected  with 
that  of  the  League  which  was  her  pet  enthusiasm  for 
the  public  weal,  only  served  as  an  incitement.  He 
would  go  through  with  it  now  at  any  cost.  By  night- 
fall he  would  be  at  police-headquarters  for  insulting 
women,  or  he  would  have  found  a  bride. 

Walking  on  again,  the  path  was  clear  before  him  as 
far  as  he  could  see.  Having  thus  a  few  minutes  to 
reflect,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  attacks  had 
been  too  precipitate.  He  should  feel  the  ground  be- 
fore him,  leading  the  sibyl  a  little  at  a  time,  so  as  to 
have  her  mentally  prepared.  There  were  methods  of 
"getting  acquainted"  to  which  he  should  apply  himself 
first  of  all. 

But  getting  acquainted  with  the  old  Italian  peasant 
woman,  bowed  beneath  a  bundle,  who  was  the  next 
he  would  have  to  confront,  being  out  of  the  question, 
he  resolved  to  side-step  destiny  by  slipping  out  of  the 
main  path  and  following  a  branch  one.  Doing  so,  he 
3  27 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

came  into  less  frequented  regions,  while  his  steps  took 
him  up  a  low  hill  burnished  with  the  tints  of  mid- 
October.  Trees  and  shrubs  were  flame-colored,  cop- 
per-colored, wine-colored,  differing  only  in  their  dif- 
fuseness  of  hue  from  the  concentrated  gorgeousness  of 
amaranth,  canna,  and  gladiolus.  The  sounds  of  the 
city  were  deadened  here  to  a  dull  rumble,  while  the 
vibrancy  of  the  autumn  afternoon  excited  his  taut 
nerves. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  he  paused.  There  was  no  one 
in  sight  who  could  possibly  respond  to  his  quest.  He 
wondered  for  a  second  if  this  were  not  a  hint  to  him 
to  abandon  it.  But  doing  that  he  would  abandon  his 
revenge,  and  by  abandoning  his  revenge  he  would  con- 
cede everything  to  this  girl  who  had  so  bitterly 
wronged  him.  Ever  since  he  could  remember  they 
had  been  pals,  and  for  at  least  ten  years  he  had  vaguely 
thought  of  asking  her  to  marry  him  when  it  came 
to  his  seeking  a  wife.  It  was  true,  the  hint  she  had 
thrown  out,  that  he  had  felt  himself  in  no  great  need 
of  a  wife  till  his  mother  had  died  some  eighteen 
months  previously,  and  he  had  found  himself  with  a 
cumbrous  old  establishment  on  his  hands.  That  had 
given  the  decisive  turn  to  his  suit.  He  had  asked  her. 
She  had  taken  him.  And  since  then,  in  the  course  of 
less  than  ten  weeks,  if  they  had  had  three  quarrels 
they  had  had  thirty.  He  had  taken  them  all  more  or 
less  good-naturedly — till  to-day.  To-day  was  too 
much.  He  could  hardly  say  why  it  was  too  much, 
unless  it  was  as  the  last  straw,  but  he  felt  it  essential 
to  his  honor  to  show  her  by  actual  demonstration  the 
ruin  she  had  made  of  him. 

28 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Looking  about  him  for  another  possibility,  he 
noticed  that  at  the  spot  where  the  path,  having  ser- 
pentined down  the  little  hillside,  rejoined  the  main 
footway  there  was  a  bench  so  placed  that  its  occupant 
would  have  a  view  along  several  avenues  at  once. 
Since  it  was  obviously  a  vantage  point  for  such 
strategy  as  his,  he  had  taken  the  first  steps  down  to- 
ward it  when  a  little  gray  figure  emerged  from  behind 
a  group  of  blue  Norway  spruces.  She  went  dejectedly 
to  the  bench,  sitting  down  at  an  extreme  end  of  it. 

Wrought  up  to  a  fit  of  tension  far  from  rare  with 
him,  Allerton  stood  with  his  nails  digging  into  his 
clenched  palms  and  his  thin  lips  pressed  together.  He 
was  sure  he  was  looking  at  a  "drab."  All  the  shoddy, 
outcast  meanings  he  had  read  into  the  word  were 
under  the  bedraggled  feathers  of  this  battered  black 
hat  or  compressed  within  the  forlorn  squirrel-trimmed 
gray  suit.  The  dragging  movement,  the  hint  of  drop- 
ping on  the  seat  not  from  fatigue  but  from  desperation, 
completed  the  picture  his  imagination  had  already 
painted  of  some  world-worn,  knocked-about  creature 
who  had  come  to  the  point  at  which,  in  his  own  phrase, 
she  was  "all  in." 

As  far  as  this  described  Letty  Gravely,  he  was 
wrong.  She  was  not  "all  in."  She  was  never  more 
mentally  alert  than  at  that  very  minute.  If  she  moved 
slowly,  if  she  sank  on  the  seat  as  if  too  beaten  down 
by  events  to  do  more,  it  was  because  her  mind  was  so 
intensely  centered  on  her  immediate  problems. 

She  had,  in  fact,  just  formed  a  great  resolution. 
Whatever  became  of  her,  she  would  never  go  back  to 
Judson  Flack,  her  stepfather.     This  had  not  been 

29 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

clearly  in  her  mind  when  she  had  gone  down  his  steps 
and  walked  away,  but  the  occasion  presented  itself  now 
as  one  to  be  seized.  In  seizing  it,  however,  the  alter- 
natives were  difficult.  She  was  without  a  cent,  a 
shelter,  a  job,  a  friend,  or  the  prospect  of  a  meal.  It 
was  probable  that  there  was  not  at  that  minute  in 
New  York  a  human  being  so  destitute.  Before  night- 
fall she  would  have  to  find  some  nominal  motive  for 
living  or  be  arrested  as  a  vagrant. 

She  was  not  appalled.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  was  relatively  free  from  fear.  Even  with  nothing 
but  her  person  as  she  stood,  she  was  her  own  mistress. 
No  big  dread  hung  over  her — ^that  is,  no  big  dread 
of  the  kind  represented  by  Judson  Flack.  She  might 
jump  into  the  river  or  go  to  the  bad,  but  in  either  case 
she  would  do  it  of  her  own  free  will.  Merely  to  have 
the  exercise  of  her  own  free  will  gave  her  the  kind  of 
physical  relief  which  a  human  being  gets  from  stretch- 
ing limbs  cramped  and  crippled  by  chains. 

Besides,  there  was  in  her  situation  an  underlying 
possibility  of  adventure.  This  she  didn't  phrase,  since 
she  didn't  understand  it.  She  only  had  the  intuition  in 
her  heart  that  where  "the  world  is  all  before  you, 
where  to  choose  your  place  of  rest,  and  Providence 
your  guide,"  Providence  becomes  your  guide.  Ver- 
bally she  put  it  merely  in  the  words,  "Things  happen," 
though  as  to  what  could  happen  between  half-past 
three  in  the  afternoon  and  midnight,  when  she  would 
possibly  be  in  jail,  she  could  not  begin  to  imagine. 

So  absorbed  was  she  in  this  momentous  uncertainty 
that  she  scarcely  noticed  that  some  one  had  seated 
himself  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench.    It  was  a  public 

30 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

place;  it  was  likely  that  some  one  would.  She  felt 
neither  curiosity  nor  resentment.  A  lack  of  certain 
of  the  feminine  instincts,  or  their  retarded  develop- 
ment, left  her  without  interest  in  the  fact  that  the 
newcomer  was  a  man.  From  the  slight  glance  she  had 
given  him  when  she  heard  his  step,  she  judged  him  to 
be  what  she  estimated  as  an  elderly  man,  quite  far  into 
the  thirties. 

She  went  back  to  her  own  thoughts  which  were 
practical.  There  were  certain  measures  which  she 
could  take  at  once,  after  which  there  would  be  no 
return.  Once  more  she  was  not  appalled.  She  had 
lived  too  near  the  taking  of  these  steps  to  be  shocked 
by  them.  Everything  in  life  is  a  question  of  relativity, 
and  in  the  world  which  her  mother  had  entered  on 
marrying  Judson  Flack  the  men  were  all  so  near  the 
edge  of  the  line  which  separates  the  criminal  from  the 
non-criminal  that  it  seemed  a  natural  thing  when  they 
crossed  it,  while  the  women.  .  .  . 

But  as  her  thoughts  were  dealing  with  this  social 
problem  in  its  bearing  on  herself,  her  neighbor  spoke. 

"Funny  to  watch  those  kids  playing  with  the  pup, 
isn't  it?" 

She  admitted  that  it  was,  that  watching  children 
and  young  animals  was  a  favorite  sport  with  her.  She 
answered  simply,  because  being  addressed  by  strange 
men  with  whom  she  found  herself  in  proximity  was 
sanctioned  by  the  etiquette  of  her  society.  To  resent 
it  would  be  putting  on  airs,  besides  which  it  would 
cut  off  social  intercourse  between  the  sexes.  It 
had  happened  to  her  many  a  time  to  have  engag- 
ing  conversations   with   chance   young   men   beside 

31 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

her  in  the  subway,  never  seeing  them  before  or 
afterward. 

So  Allerton  found  getting  acquainted  easier  than  he 
had  expected-  The  etiquette  of  his  society  not  sanc- 
tioning this  directness  of  response  on  her  part,  he  drew 
the  conclusion  that  she  was  accustomed  to  "meeting 
fellows  halfway."  As  this  was  the  sort  of  person  he 
was  looking  for,  he  found  in  the  freedom  nothing  to 
complain  of. 

With  the  openness  of  her  social  type  she  gave 
details  of  her  biography  without  needing  to  be 
pressed. 

"You're  a  New  York  girl?" 

"I  am  now.    I  didn't  use  to  be." 

**What  were  you  to  begin  with  ?" 

"Momma  brought  me  from  Canada  after  my  father 
died.    That's  why  I  ain't  got  no  friends  here." 

At  this  appeal  for  sympathy  his  glance  stole  suspi- 
ciously toward  her,  finding  his  first  conjectures  some- 
what but  not  altogether  verified.  She  was  young  ap- 
parently, and  possibly  pretty,  though  as  to  neither 
point  did  he  care.  He  would  have  preferred  more 
"past,"  more  "mystery,**  more  "drama,"  but  since  you 
couldn't  have  everything,  a  young  person  utterly  unfit 
to  be  his  wife  would  have  to  be  enough.  He  continued 
to  draw  out  her  story,  not  because  he  cared  anything 
about  hearing  it,  but  in  order  to  spring  his  question 
finally  without  making  her  think  him  more  unbal- 
anced than  he  was. 

"Your  father  was  a  Canadian?" 

"Yes ;  a  farmer.  Momma  used  to  say  she  was  about 
as  good  to  work  a  farm  as  a  cat  to  run  a  fire-engine. 

32 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

When  he  died,  she  sold  out  for  four  thousand  dollars 
and  come  to  New  York." 

"To  work?" 

"No,  to  have  a  good  time.  She'd  never  had  a  good 
time,  momma  hadn't,  and  she  was  awful  pretty.  So 
she  said  she'd  just  blow  herself  to  it  while  she  had 
the  berries  in  her  basket.  That  was  how  she  met 
Judson  Flack.  I  suppose  you  know  who  he  is.  Every- 
body does." 

*Tm  afraid  I  haven't  the  pleasure." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  as  you'd  find  it  any  big  pleasure. 
Momma  didn't,  not  after  she'd  give  him  a  try." 

"Who  and  what  is  he?" 

"He  calls  hisself  a  man  about  town.  I  call  him  a 
bum.    Poor  momma  married  him." 

"And  wasn't  happy,  I  suppose." 

"Not  after  he'd  spent  her  wad,  she  wasn't.  She 
was  crazy  about  him,  and  when  she  found  out  that  all 
he'd  cared  about  was  her  four  thousand  plunks — well, 
it  was  her  finish." 

"How  long  ago  was  that  ?" 

"About  four  years  now." 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  in  the  meanwhile  ?" 

"Keepin'  house  for  Judson  Flack  most  of  the  time — 
tin  I  quit." 

"Oh,  you've  quit?" 

"Sure  I've  quit."  She  was  putting  her  better  foot 
forward.    "Now  I'm  in  pitchers." 

He  glanced  at  her  again,  having  noticed  already  that 
she  scarcely  glanced  at  him.  Her  profile  was  toward 
him  as  at  first,  an  irregular  little  profile  of  lifts  and 
tilts,  which  might  be  appealing,  but  was  not  beauti- 

33 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

ful.  The  boast  of  being  in  pictures,  so  incongruous 
with  her  woefully  dilapidated  air,  did  not  amuse  him. 
He  knew  how  large  a  place  a  nominal  connection 
with  the  stage  took  in  the  lives  of  certain  ladies. 
Even  this  poor  little  tramp  didn't  hesitate  to  make 
the  claim. 

"And  youVe  doing  well?" 

She  wouldn't  show  the  white  feather.  "Oh,  so  so ! 
I — I  get  along." 

"You  live  by  yourself?" 

"I— I  do  now." 

"Don't  you  find  it  lonely?" 

"Not  so  lonely  as  livin'  with  Judson  Flack.** 

"You're — ^you're  happy?" 

A  faint  implication  that  she  might  look  to  him  for 
help  stirred  her  fierce  independence.  "Gee,  yes!  I'm 
— I'm  doin'  swell." 

"But  you  wouldn't  mind  a  change,  I  suppose  ?" 

For  the  first  time  her  eyes  stole  toward  him,  not 
in  suspicion,  and  still  less  in  alarm,  but  in  one  of  the 
intenser  shades  of  curiosity.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  was 
going  to  suggest  to  her  something  "off  the  level"  but 
which  would  nevertheless  be  worth  her  while.  She  was 
used  to  these  procedures,  not  in  actual  experience  but 
from  hearing  them  talked  about.  They  made  up  a 
large  part  of  what  Judson  Flack  understood  as  "busi- 
ness.'* She  felt  it  prudent  to  be  as  non-committal 
as  possible. 

"I  ain't  so  sure.** 

She  meant  him  to  understand  that  being  tolerably 
satisfied  with  her  own  way  of  life,  she  was  not  enthusi- 
astic over  new  experiments. 

34 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

His  next  observation  was  no  surprise  to  her.  *Tm 
a  lawyer." 

She  was  sure  of  that.  There  were  always  lawyers 
in  these  subterranean  affairs — "shyster"  was  a  word 
she  had  heard  applied  to  them — and  this  man  looked 
the  part.  His  thin  face,  clear-cut  profile,  and  skin 
which  showed  dark  where  he  shaved,  were  all, 
in  her  judgment,  signs  of  the  sinister.  Even  his 
clothes,  from  his  patent  leather  shoes  with  spats 
to  his  dark  blue  necktie  with  a  pearl  in  it,  were  those 
which  an  actor  would  wear  in  pictures  to  represent 
a  "shark." 

She  was  turning  these  thoughts  over  in  her  mind 
when  he  spoke  again. 

"I've  an  office,  but  I  don't  practise  much.  It  takes 
all  my  time  to  manage  my  own  estate." 

She  didn't  know  what  this  meant.  It  sounded  like 
farming,  but  you  didn't  farm  in  New  York,  or  do  it 
from  an  office  anyhow.  "I  guess  he's  one  of  them 
gold-brick  nuts,"  she  commented  to  herself,  "but  he 
won't  put  nothin'  over  on  me." 

In  return  for  her  biography  he  continued  to  give 
his,  bringing  out  his  facts  in  short,  hard  statements 
which  seemed  to  hurt  him.  It  was  this  hurting  him 
"Which  she  found  most  difficult  to  reconcile  with  her 
gold  brick  theory  and  the  suspicion  that  he  was  a 
"shark." 

"My  father  was  a  lawyer,  too.  Rather  well  known 
in  his  day.    One  time  ambassador  to  Vienna." 

Ambassador  to  Vienna!  She  didn't  know  where 
Vienna  was  or  the  nature  of  an  ambassador,  but 
she  did  know  that  it  sounded  grand,  so  she  looked 

35 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

at  him  attentively.    It  was  either  more  gold  brick  or 
else.  .  .  . 

Then  something  struck  her — "smote  her"  would 
be  perhaps  the  more  accurately  descriptive  word,  since 
the  effect  was  on  her  heart.  This  man  was  sick.  He 
was  suffering.  She  had  often  seen  women  suffer,  but 
men  rarely,  and  this  was  one  of  the  rare  instances. 
Something  in  her  was  touched.  She  couldn't  imagine 
why  he  talked  to  her  or  what  he  wanted  of  her,  but 
a  pity  which  had  never  yet  been  called  upon  was  astir 
among  her  emotions. 

As  for  the  minute  he  said  no  more,  her  next  words 
came  out  only  because  she  supposed  them  to  betray 
the  kindly  interest  of  which  he  was  in  need. 

"Then  I  suppose  he  left  you  a  big  fat  wad." 

"Yes;  but  it  doesn't  do  me  any  good.  I  mean,  it 
doesn't  make  me  happy — ^when  I'm  not." 

"I  guess  it'd  make  you  a  good  deal  less  happy  if  you 
didn't  have  it." 

"Perhaps  so;  I  don't  think  about  it  either  way." 
He  added,  after  tense  compression  of  the  Hps;  "I'm 
all  alone  in  the  world — like  you." 

She  was  sure  now  that  something  was  coming, 
though  of  what  nature  lay  beyond  her  speculative 
power.  She  wondered  if  he  could  have  fallen  in  love 
with  her  at  first  sight,  realizing  a  favorite  dream  she 
often  had  in  the  subway.  Hundreds  of  times  she  had 
beguiled  the  minutes  by  selecting  one  or  another  of 
the  wealthy  lawyers  and  bankers,  whom  she  supposed 
to  be  her  fellow-travelers  there,  seeing  him  smitten  by 
a  glance  at  her,  following  her  when  she  got  out,  and 
laying  his  heart  and  coronet  at  her  feet  before  she  had 

36 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

run  up  the  steps.  If  this  man  were  not  a  shyster  lawyer 
or  a  gold  brick  nut,  he  might  possibly  be  doing  that. 

"It's  about  a  girl,"  he  burst  out  suddenly.  "Half 
an  hour  ago  she  kicked  me  out." 

"Did  she  know  you  had  all  thaf  dough?" 

"Yes,  she  knew  I  had  all  that  dough.  But  she  said 
that  since  I  was  going  to  the  devil,  I  had  better  go." 
He  drew  a  long  breath.  "Well,  I'm  going — perhaps 
quicker  than  she  thinks." 

"Will  vou  do  yourself  any  good  by  that?" 

"No,  but  I'll  do  her  harm." 

"How?" 

"I'll  show  her  what  she's  made  of  me." 

"She  can't  make  an3rthing  of  you  in  half  an  hour 
or  in  half  a  year — ^not  so  long  as  you've  got  your  wad 
back  of  you.  If  you  was  to  be  kicked  out  with  your 
pay-envelope  stole,  and  your  mother's  rings  pulled  off 
your  fingers,  and  her  wrist-watch  from  your  wrist, 
and  even  your  carfare " 

"Is  that  what's  happened  to  you?" 

"Sure!  Half  an  hour  ago,  too.  Judson  Flack! 
But  why  should  I  worry?  Somethlng'll  happen  before 
night." 

He  became  emphatic.  "Yes,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
will  be.  You  put  your  finger  on  it  just  now  when 
you  said  she  couldn't  make  anything  out  of  men  in  half 
an  hour.  Well,  it's  got  to  be  something  that  would 
take  just  that  time — ^an  hour  at  the  most — and  fatal. 
Now  do  you  see  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

He  swung  fully  round  on  her  from  his  end  of  the 
bench.    "Think,"  he  commanded. 

37 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

As  if  with  a  premonitory  notion  of  what  he  meant, 
she  answered  coldly:  "What's  the  good  o'  me 
thinkin'  ?    I've  got  nothin'  to  do  with  it." 

"You  might  have." 

"I  can't  imagine  what,  unless  it'd  be "  Realiz- 
ing what  she  had  been  about  to  say,  she  broke  off  in 
confusion,  coloring  to  the  eyes. 

He  nodded.  "I  see  you  understand.  I  want  you  to 
come  off  somewhere  and  marry  me." 

She  took  it  more  calmly  than  if  she  hadn't  thought 
him  mad.  "But — but  you  said  you'd  be — be  goin'  to 
the  devil." 

"Well?" 

His  look,  his  tone,  conveyed  the  idea,  which  pene- 
trated to  her  mind  but  slowly.  When  it  did,  the  surg- 
ing color  became  a  flush,  hot  and  painful. 

So  here  it  was  again,  the  thing  she  had  been  run- 
ning away  from.  It  had  outwitted  and  outrun  her, 
meeting  her  again  just  at  the  instant  when  she  thought 
she  was  shaking  it  off.  She  was  so  indignant  with  the 
thing  that  she  almost  overlooked  the  man.  She  too 
swung  round  from  her  end  of  the  bench,  so  that  they 
confronted  each  other,  with  the  length  of  the  seat 
between  them.  It  was  her  habit  to  put  things  plainly, 
though  now  she  did  it  with  a  burning  heart. 

"This  is  the  way  you  mean  it,  isn't  it? — ^you'd  go  to 
the  devil  because  you'd  married  me/' 

The  half -minute  before  he  answered  was  occupied 
not  merely  in  thinking  what  to  say  but  in  noticing, 
now  that  he  had  her  in  full- face,  that  her  large,  brown 
irises  seemed  to  be  sprinkled  with  gold  dust.  Other- 
wise her  appearance  struck  him  simply  as  burred,  as  if 

38 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

it  had  been  brightly  enough  drawn  as  to  color  and  line, 
only  rubbed  over  and  defaced  by  the  hand  of  misery. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  get  me  wrong,"  he  explained. 
"It's  not  a  question  of  my  marrying  you  in  particular. 
I've  said  I'd  marry  the  first  girl  I  met  who'd  marry 
me. 

The  gold-brown  eyes  scintillated  with  a  thousand 
tiny  stars.    "Say,  and  am  I  the  first?" 

"No;  you're  the  fourth."  He  added,  so  that  she 
should  be  under  no  misconception  as  to  what  he  was 
about :  "You  can  take  me  or  leave  me.  That's  up  to 
you.  But  if  you  take  me,  I  want  you  to  understand 
that  it'll  be  on  a  purely  business  basis." 

She  repeated,  as  if  to  memorize  the  words,  "A 
purely  business  basis." 

"Exactly.  I'm  not  looking  for  a  wife.  I  only 
want  a  woman  to  marry — a  woman  to  whom  I  can 
point  and  say,  See  there !    I've  married — ^that." 

"And  that'd  be  me." 

"If  you  undertook  the  job." 

"The  job  of — of  bein'  laughed  at — jeered  at " 

"I'd  be  the  one  who'd  be  laughed  at  and  jeered  at. 
Nobody  would  think  anything  about  you.  They! 
wouldn't  remember  how  you  looked  or  know  your 
name.  If  you  got  sick  of  it  after  a  bit,  and  decided  to 
cut  and  run,  you  could  do  it.  I'd  see  that  you  were 
well  treated — for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

She  studied  him  long  and  earnestly.  "Say,  are  you 
crazy?" 

"I'm  all  on  edge,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  But 
there's  nothing  for  you  to  be  afraid  of.  I  shan't  do 
you  any  harm  at  any  time." 

39 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"You  only  want  to  do  harm  to  yourself.  I'd  be 
like  the  awful  kind  o'  pill  which  a  fellow'll  swaller 
to  commit  suicide."  She  rose,  not  without  a  dignity 
of  her  own.  "Well,  mister,  if  I'm  your  fourth,  I 
guess  you'll  have  to  look  about  you  for  a  fifth." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

He  asked  the  question  without  rising.  She  an- 
swered as  if  her  choice  of  objectives  was  large. 

"Oh,  anywheres." 

**Which  means  nowhere,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  not  exactly.  It  means — it  means — the  first 
place  I  fetch  up." 

"The  first  place  you  fetch  up  may  be  the  police- 
station,  if  the  things  you  said  just  now  are  true." 

"The  police-station  is  safe,  anyways." 

"And  you  think  the  place  I'd  take  you  to  wouldn't 
be.  Well,  you're  wrong.  It'll  be  as  safe  as  a  church 
for  as  long  as  you  like  to  stay ;  and  when  you  want  to 
go — ^lots  of  money  to  go  with." 

Facing  away  from  him  toward  the  city,  she  said 
over  her  shoulder:  "There's  things  money  couldn't 
pay  you  for.    Bein'  looked  down  on  is  one." 

She  was  about  to  walk  on,  but  he  sprang  after  her, 
catching  her  by  the  sleeve. 

"Look  here !  Be  a  sport.  You've  got  the  chance  of 
your  lifetime.  It'll  mean  no  more  to  you  than  a  part 
they'd  give  you  in  pictures — just  a  role — and  pay  you 
a  lot  better." 

She  was  not  blind  to  the  advantages  he  laid  before 
her.  True,  it  might  be  what  she  qualified  as  "bull" 
to  get  her  into  a  trap ;  only  she  didn't  believe  it.  This 
man  with  the  sick  mind  and  anguished  face  was  none 

40 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

of  the  soft-spoken  fiends  whose  business  it  is  to  en- 
snare young  girls.  She  knew  all  about  them  from 
living  with  Judson  Flack,  and  couldn't  be  mistaken. 
This  fellow  might  be  crazy,  but  he  was  what  he  said. 
If  he  said  he  wouldn't  do  her  any  harm,  he  wouldn't. 
If  he  said  he  would  pay  her  well,  he  would.  The  main 
question  was  as  to  whether  or  not,  just  for  the  sake 
of  getting  something  to  eat  and  a  place  to  sleep,  she 
could  deliberately  put  herself  in  a  position  in  which  the 
man  who  had  married  her  would  have  gone  to  the 
devil  because  he  had  married  her. 

As  he  held  her  by  the  sleeve  looking  down  at  her, 
and  she,  half  turned,  was  looking  up  at  him,  this 
was  the  battle  she  was  fighting.  Hitherto  her 
impulse  had  been  to  run  away  from  the  scorn  of 
her  inferiority;  now  she  was  asking  herself  what 
would  happen  if  she  took  up  its  challenge  and 
fought  it  on  its  own  ground.  What  if  I  do?  was 
the  way  the  question  framed  itself,  but  aloud  she 
made  it . 

"If  I  said  I  would,  what  would  happen  first?" 

"We'd  go  and  get  a  license.  Then  we'd  find  a 
minister.  After  that  I  should  give  you  something  to 
eat,  and  then  I'd  take  you  home." 

"Where  would  that  be?" 

He  gave  her  his  address  in  East  Sixty-seventh 
Street,  only  a  few  doors  from  Fifth  Avenue,  but  her 
social  sophistication  was  not  up  to  the  point  of  seeing 
the  significance  of  this.  Neither  did  her  imagination 
try  to  picture  the  home  or  to  see  it  otherwise  than  as 
an  alternative  to  the  police-station,  or  worse,  as  a  lodg- 
ing for  the  night. 

41 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"And  what  would  happen  to  me  when  I  got  to  your 
home?" 

"You'd  have  your  own  room.  I  shouldn't  interfere 
with  you.  You'd  hardly  ever  see  me.  You  could  stay 
as  long  as  you  liked  or  as  short  as  you  liked,  after 
the  first  week  or  two." 

There  was  that  about  him  which  carried  conviction. 
She  believed  him.  As  an  alternative  to  having  no- 
where to  go,  what  he  offered  her  was  something,  and 
something  with  that  spice  of  adventure  of  which  she 
had  been  dreaming  only  a  few  minutes  earlier.  She 
couldn't  be  worse  off  than  she  was  now,  and  if  it  gave 
her  the  chance  of  a  hand-to-hand  tussle  with  the 
world-pride  which  had  never  done  anything  but  look 
down  on  her,  she  would  be  fighting  what  she  held 
as  her  worst  enemy.    She  braced  herself  to  say, 

"All  right;  I'll  do  it." 

He,  too,  braced  himself.    "Very  well !    Let's  start." 

The  impetuosity  of  his  motion  almost  took  her 
breath  away  as  she  tried  to  keep  pace  with  him. 

"By  the  way,  what's  your  name?"  he  asked,  before 
they  reached  Fifth  Avenue. 

She  told  him,  but  was  too  overwhelmed  with  what 
she  had  undertaken  to  dare  to  ask  him  his, 


Chapter  IV. 

NAO!" 
The  strong  cockney  negative  was  also  an  excla- 
mation. It  came  from  Mrs.  Courage,  the  cook-house- 
keeper, who  stood  near  the  kitchen  range  making  the 
coffee  for  breakfast.  She  was  a  woman  who  looked 
her  name,  born  not  merely  to  do  battle,  but  to  enjoy 
being  in  the  midst  of  it. 

Jane,  the  waitress,  was  the  next  to  speak.  "Nettie 
Duckett,  you  ought  to  be  ashymed  to  sye  them  words, 
you  that's  been  taught  to  'ope  the  best  of  everyone." 

Jane  had  fluttered  in  from  the  pantry  with  the  cov- 
ered dish  for  the  toast.  Jane  still  fluttered  at  her 
work,  as  she  had  done  for  the  past  thirty  years.  The 
late  Mrs.  Allerton  had  liked  her  about  the  table  because 
she  was  swift,  deft,  and  moved  lightly.  A  thin  little 
woman,  with  a  profile  resembling  that  of  Punch's 
Judy,  and  a  smile  of  cheerful  piety,  she  yielded  to  time 
only  by  a  process  of  drying  up. 

Nettie  Duckett  was  quick  in  her  own  defense,  but 
breathless,  too,  from  girlish  laughter.  *T  can't  'elp 
syin'  what  I  see,  now  can  I?  There  she  was  'arf 
dressed  in  the  little  back  spare-room.  Oh,  the  com- 
monest thing!  You  wouldn't  'a  wanted  to  sweep  'er 
out  with  a  broom." 

"Pretty  goin's  on  I  must  sye,"  Jane  commented. 
"  'Ope  the  best  of  everyone  I  will,  but  when  you  think 
that  we  was  all  on  the  top  floor " 

4  43 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"Pretty  goin's  off  there'll  be,  I  can  tell  you  that," 
Mrs.  Courage  declared  in  her  rich,  decided  bass. 
"Just  let  me  'ave  a  word  with  Master  Rashleigh.  I'll 
tell  'im  what  'is  ma  would  'ave  said.  She  left  *im  to 
me,  she  did.  'Courage,'  she's  told  me  many  a  time, 
'that  boy '11  be  your  boy  after  I'm  gone.'  As  good  as 
mykin'  a  will,  I  call  it.  And  now  to  think  that  with 
us  right  'ere  in  the  'ouse.  .  .  .  Where's  Steptoe  ?  Do 
'e  know  anjrthing  about  it?" 

"Do  'e  know  anything  about  what  ?"  The  question 
came  from  Steptoe  himself,  who  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

The  three  women  maintained  a  dramatic  silence, 
while  the  old  butler-valet  looked  from  one  to  another. 

"Seems  as  if  there  was  news,"  he  observed  dryly. 

"Tell  'im,  Nettie,"  Mrs.  Courage  commanded. 

Nettie  was  the  young  thing  of  the  establishment, 
Mrs.  Courage's  own  niece,  brought  from  England 
when  the  housemaid's  place  fell  vacant  on  Bessie's 
unexpected  marriage  to  Walter  Wildgoose,  Miss  Wal- 
brook's  indoor  man.  Indeed  she  had  been  brought 
from  England  before  Bessie's  marriage,  of  which 
Mrs.  Courage  had  had  advance  information,  so  that 
as  soon  as  Bessie  left,  Nettie  was  on  the  spot  to  be 
smuggled  into  the  AUerton  household.  Steptoe  had 
not  forgiven  this  underhand  movement  on  Mrs.  Cour- 
age's part,  seeing  that  in  the  long-ago  both  she  and 
Jane  had  been  his  own  nominees,  and  that  he  con- 
sidered the  household  posts  as  gifts  at  his  disposal. 
"I'll  'ave  to  make  a  clean  sweep  o'  the  lot  o'  them,"  he 
had  more  than  once  declared  at  those  gatherings  at 
which  the  English  butlers  and  valets  of  upper  Fifth 

44 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Avenue  discuss  their  complex  of  interests.  Forty 
years  in  the  Allerton  family  had  made  him  not  merely 
its  major-domo  but  in  certain  respects  its  head.  His 
tone  toward  Nettie  was  that  of  authority  with  a  note 
of  disapprobation. 

"Speak,  girl,  and  do  it  withotrt:  giggling.  What 
*ave  you  to  tell  ?" 

Though  she  couldn't  do  it  without  giggling  Nettie 
repeated  the  story  she  had  given  to  her  aunt  and  Jane. 
She  had  gone  into  the  small  single  back  bedroom  on 
the  floor  below  Mr.  Allerton's,  and  there  was  a  half- 
dressed  girl  'a-puttin'  up  of  'er  'air,*  According  to 
her  own  statement  Nettie  had  passed  away  on  the  spot, 
being  able,  however,  to  articulate  the  question,  "What 
are  you  a'doin'  of  'ere?"  To  this  the  young  woman 
had  replied  that  Mr.  Allerton  had  brought  her  in  on 
the  previous  evening,  telling  her  to  sleep  there,  and 
there  she  had  slept.  Nettie's  information  could  go  no 
further,  but  it  was  considered  to  go  far  enough. 

"So  what  do  you  sye  to  that?"  Mrs.  Courage  de- 
manded of  Steptoe;  "you  that's  always  so  ready  to 
defend  my  young  lord  ?" 

Steptoe  was  prepared  to  stand  back  to  back  with 
his  employer.  "I  don't  defend  'im.  I'm  not  called  on 
to  defend  'im.  It's  Mr.  Rashleigh's  *ouse.  Any  guest 
of  'is  must  be  your  guest  and  mine." 

"And  what  about  Miss  Walbrook,  *er  that's  to  be 
missus  'ere  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks?" 

Steptoe  colored,  frostily.  "She's  not  missus  'ere 
yet ;  and  if  she  ever  comes,  there'll  be  stormy  weather 
for  all  of  us.  New  missuses  don't  generally  get  on 
with  old  servants  like  us — that's  been  in  the  family 

45 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

for  so  many  years — but  when  they  don't,  it  ain't  them 
as  gets  notice." 

A  bell  rang  sharply.    Steptoe  sprang  to  attention. 

"There's  Mr.  Rashleigh  now.  Don't  you  women  go 
to  mykin'  a  to-do.  There's  lots  o*  troubles  that  'ud 
never  'ave  'appened  if  women  'ad  been  able  to  'old 
their  tongues." 

"But  I  suppose,  Steptoe,  you  don't  deny  that  there's 
such  a  thing  as  right." 

"I  don't  deny  that  there's  such  a  thing  as  right, 
Mrs.  Courage,  but  I  only  wonder  if  you  knows  more 
about  it  than  the  rest  of  us." 

In  Allerton's  room  Steptoe  found  the  young  master 
of  the  house  half  dressed.  Standing  before  a  mirror, 
he  was  brushing  his  hair.  His  face  and  eyes,  the 
reflection  of  which  Steptoe  caught  in  the  glass,  were 
like  those  of  a  man  on  the  edge  of  going  insane. 

The  old  valet  entered  according  to  his  daily  habit 
and  without  betraying  the  knowledge  of  anything  un- 
usual. All  the  same  his  heart  was  sinking,  as  old 
hearts  sink  when  beloved  young  ones  are  in  trouble. 
The  boy  was  his  darling.  He  had  been  with  his  father 
for  ten  years  before  the  lad  was  born,  and  had  watched 
his  growth  with  a  more  than  paternal  devotion.  "  'E's 
all  I  'ave,"  he  often  said  to  himself,  and  had  been  known 
to  let  out  the  fact  in  the  afore-mentioned  group  of 
English  upper  servants,  a  small  but  exclusive  circle 
in  the  multiplex  life  of  New  York. 

In  Steptoe's  opinion  Master  Rash  had  never  had  a 
chance.  Born  many  years  after  his  parents  had  lived 
together  childlessly,  he  had  come  into  the  world  con- 
stitutionally neurasthenic.     Steptoe  had  never  known 

46 


THE"  DUST    FLOWER 

a  boy  who  needed  more  to  be  nursed  along  and  coaxed 
along  by  affection,  and  now  and  then  by  indulgence. 
Instead,  the  system  of  severity  had  been  applied  with 
results  little  short  of  calamitous.  He  had  been  sent 
to  schools  famous  for  religion  and  discipline,  from 
which  he  reacted  in  the  first  weeks  of  freedom  in  col- 
lege, getting  into  dire  academic  scrapes.  Further  se- 
verity had  led  to  further  scrapes,  and  further  scrapes 
to  something  like  disgrace,  when  the  war  broke  out 
and  a  Red  Cross  job  had  kept  him  from  going  to  the 
bad.  The  mother  had  been  a  self-willed  and  selfish 
woman,  claiming  more  from  her  son  than  she  ever  gave 
him,  and  never  perceiving  that  his  was  a  nature  requir- 
ing a  peculiar  kind  of  care.  After  her  death  Steptoe 
had  prayed  for  a  kind,  sweet  wife  to  come  to  the 
boy's  rescue,  and  the  answer  had  been  Miss  Barbara 
Walbrook. 

When  the  engagement  was  announced,  Steptoe  had 
given  up  hoj)e.  Of  Miss  Walbrook  as  a  woman  he 
had  nothing  to  complain.  Walter  Wildgoose  reported 
her  a  noble  creature,  splendid,  generous,  magnificent, 
only  needing  a  strong  hand.  She  was  of  the  type  not 
to  be  served  but  to  be  mastered.  Rashleigh  Allerton 
would  goad  her  to  frenzy,  and  she  would  do  the  same 
by  him.  She  was  already  doing  it.  For  weeks  past 
Steptoe  could  see  it  plainly  enough,  and  what  would 
happen  after  they  were  married  God  alone  knew. 
For  himself  he  saw  no  future  but  to  hang  on  after  the 
wedding  as  long  as  the  new  mistress  of  the  house 
would  allow  him,  take  his  dismissal  as  an  inevitable 
thing,  and  sneak  away  and  die. 

It  was  part  of  Steptoe's  training  not  to  notice  any- 
47 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

thing  till  his  attention  was  called  to  it.  So  having  said 
his  "Good-moming,  sir,"  he  went  to  the  closet,  took 
down  the  hanger  with  the  coat  and  waistcoat  belonging 
to  the  suit  of  which  he  saw  that  Allerton  had  put  on 
the  trousers,  and  waited  till  the  young  man  was  ready 
for  his  ministrations. 

Allerton  was  still  brushing  his  hair,  as  he  said  over 
his  shoulder :  "There's  a  young  woman  in  the  house, 
Steptoe.     Been  here  all  night" 

"Yes,  sir;   I  know — in  the  little  back  spare-room." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Nettie  went  in  for  a  pincushion,  Mr.  Rash,  and 
the  young  woman  was  a-doin'  of  'er  'air." 

"What  did  Nettie  say?" 

"It  ain't  what  Nettie  says,  sir,  if  I  may  myke  so  bold. 
It's  what  Mrs.  Q)urage  and  Jane  says." 

"Tell  Mrs.  Courage  and  Jane  they  needn't  be 
alarmed-  The  young  woman  is — "  Steptoe  caught 
the  spasm  which  contracted  the  boy's  face — "the  young 
woman  is — my  wife." 

"Quite  so,  sir." 

If  Allerton  went  no  further,  Steptoe  could  go  no 
further ;  but  inwardly  he  was  like  a  man  reprieved  at 
the  last  minute,  and  against  all  hope,  from  sentence  of 
death.  "Then  it  won't  be  'er,"  was  all  he  could  say  to 
himself,  "  'er"  being  Barbara  Walbrook.  Whatever 
calamity  had  happened,  that  calamity  at  least  would  be 
escaped,  which  was  so  much  to  the  good. 

His  arms  trembled  so  that  he  could  hardly  hold  up 
the  waistcoat  for  Allerton  to  slip  it  on.  But  he  didn't 
slip  it  on.  Instead  he  wheeled  round  from  the  mirror, 
threw  the  brushes  with  a  crash  to  the  toilet  table,  and 

48 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

cried  with  a  rage  all  the  more  raging  for  being  im- 
potent : 

"Steptoe,  I've  been  every  kind  of  fool.'* 

"Yes,  sir,  I  expect  so." 

"You've  got  to  get  me  out  of  it,  Steptoe.  You 
must  find  a  way  to  save  me." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  sir."  The  joy  of  cooperation  with 
the  lad  almost  made  up  for  the  anguish  at  his  anguish. 
"What  'ud  it  be — ^you  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Rash — 
but  what  'ud  it  be  that  you'd  like  me  to  save  you 
from?" 

Allerton  threw  out  his  arms.  "From  this  crazy 
marriage.  This  frightful  mix-up.  I  went  right  off  the 
handle  yesterday.  I  was  an  infernal  idiot.  And  now 
I'm  in  for  it.  Something's  got  to  be  done,  Steptoe, 
and  I  can't  think  of  any  one  but  you  to  do  it," 

"Quite  so,  sir.  Will  you  'ave  your  wystcoat  on  now, 
sir?  You're  ready  for  it,  I  see.  I'll  think  it  over, 
Mr.  Rash,  and  let  you  know." 

While  first  the  waistcoat  and  then  the  coat  were 
extended  and  slipped  over  the  shoulders,  Allerton  did 
his  best  to  put  Steptoe  in  possession  of  the  mad  facts 
of  the  previous  day.  Though  the  account  he  gave  was 
incoherent,  the  old  man  understood  enough. 

"It  wasn't  her  fault,  you  must  understand,"  Aller- 
ton explained  further,  as  Steptoe  brushed  his  hat. 
"She  didn't  want  to.  I  persuaded  her.  I  wanted  to  do 
something  that  would  wring  Miss  Walbrook's  heart — 
and  I've  done  it!  Wrung  my  own,  too!  What's  to 
become  of  me,  Steptoe  ?  Is  the  best  thing  I  can  do  to 
shoot  myself?  Think  it  over.  I'm  ready  to.  I'm 
not  sure  that  it  wouldn't  be  a  relief  to  get  out  of  this 

49 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

rotten  life.  I'm  all  on  edge.  I  could  jump  out  of  that 
window  as  easily  as  not.  But  it  wasn't  the  girl's  fault. 
She's  a  poor  little  waif  of  a  thing.  You  must  look 
after  her  and  keep  me  from  seeing  her  again,  but  she's 
not  bad — only — only — Oh,  my  God !  my  God !" 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  rocked  him- 
self about,  so  that  Steptoe  was  obliged  to  go  on  brush- 
ing till  his  master  calmed  himself. 

"Do  you  think,  sir,"  he  said  then,  "that  this  is  the 
'at  to  go  with  this  'ere  suit  ?  I  think  as  the  brown  one 
would  be  a  lot  chicker — tone  in  with  the  sort  of  fawn 
stripe  in  the  blue  like,  and  ketch  the  note  in  your  tie." 
He  added,  while  diving  into  the  closet  in  search  of  the 
brown  hat  and  bringing  it  out,  "There's  one  thing  I 
could  say  right  now,  Mr.  Rash,  and  I  think  it  might 
'elp." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Do  you  remember  the  time  when  you  'urt  your  leg 
'unting  down  in  Long  Island?" 

"Yes;  what  about  it?" 

"You  was  all  for  not  payin'  it  no  attention  and  for 
*oppin'  about  as  if  you  'adn't  'urt  it  at  all.  A  terr'ble 
fuss  you  myde  when  the  doctor  said  as  you  was  to 
keep  still.  Anybody  'ud  'ave  thought  'e'd  bordered  a 
hamputation.  And  yet  it  was  keepin'  still  what  got 
you  out  o'  the  trouble,  now  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Well?" 

"Well,  now  you're  in  a  worse  trouble  still  it  might 
do  the  S)mie  again.  I'm  a  great  believer  in  keepin'  still, 
I  am." 

Allerton  was  off  again.     "How  in  thunder  am  I  to 

keep  still  when ?" 

50 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"I'll  tell  you  one  wye,  sir.  Don't  talk.  Don't  do 
nothink.  Don't  beat  your  'ead  against  the  wall.  Be 
quiet.  Tyke  it  natural.  You've  done  this  thing.  Well, 
you  'aven't  committed  a  murder.  You  'aven't  even 
done  a  wrong  to  the  young  lydy  to  whom  you  was 
engyged.  By  what  I  understand  she'd  jilted  you,  and 
you  was  free  to  marry  any  one  you  took  a  mind  to." 

"Nominally,  perhaps,  but " 

**If  you're  nominally  free,  sir,  you're  free,  by  what 
I  can  understand;  and  if  you've  gone  and  done  a 
foolish  thing  it  ain't  no  one's  business  but  your  own." 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  stand  it !" 

"O'  course  you  can't  stand  it,  sir,  but  it's  because 
you  can't  stand  it  that  I'm  arskin*  of  you  to  keep  just 
as  quiet  as  you  can.  Mistykes  in  our  life  is  often  like 
the  twists  we'll  give  to  our  bodies.  They'll  ache  most 
aw  ful,  but  let  nyture  alone  and  she'll  tyke  care  of  'em. 
It's  jest  so  with  our  mistykes.  Let  life  alone  and  she'll 
put  'em  stryght  for  us,  nine  times  out  o'  ten,  better 
than  we  can  do  it  by  workin'  up  into  a  wax." 

Calmed  to  some  extent  Allerton  went  off  to  the  club 
for  breakfast,  being  unable  to  face  this  meal  at  home. 
Steptoe  tidied  up  the  room.  He  was  troubled  and  yet 
relieved.  It  was  a  desperate  case,  but  he  had  always 
found  that  in  desperate  cases  desperate  remedies  were 
close  at  hand. 


Chapter  V 

"OEE  that  the  poor  thing  gets  some  breakfast,"  had 
*^  been  Allerton's  parting  command,  and  having  fin- 
ished the  room,  Steptoe  went  down  the  flight  of  stairs 
to  carry  out  this  injunction. 

He  was  on  the  third  step  from  the  landing  when 
the  door  of  the  back  room  opened,  and  a  httle,  gray 
figure,  hatted  and  jacketed,  crept  out  stealthily.  She 
was  plainly  ready  for  the  street,  an  intention  under- 
stood by  Beppo,  the  late  Mrs.  Allerton's  red  cocker 
spaniel,  who  was  capering  about  her  in  the  hope  of 
sharing  the  promenade. 

As  Steptoe  came  to  a  halt,  the  girl  ran  toward  him. 

"Oh,  mister,  I  gotta  get  out  of  this  swell  dump. 
Show  me  the  way,  for  God's  sake !" 

To  say  that  Steptoe  was  thinking  rapidly  would  be 
to  describe  his  mental  processes  incorrectly.  He  never 
thought;  he  received  illuminations.  Some  such  en- 
lightenment came  to  him  now,  inducing  him  to  say, 
ceremoniously,  "Madam  can't  go  without  'er  break- 
fast." 

"I  don't  want  any  breakfast,"  she  protested,  breath- 
lessly.   "All  I  want  is  to  get  away.    I'm  frightened." 

"I  assure  madam  that  there's  nothink  to  be  afryde 
of  in  this  'ouse.  Mr.  Allerton  is  the  most  honor- 
able— "  he  pronoimced  the  initial  h — "young  man  that 
hever  was  born.  I  valeted  'is  father  before  'im  and 
know  that  'e  wouldn't  'urt  a  fly.     If  madam'll  trust 

5-5 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

me —  Besides,  Mr.  Allerton  left  word  with  me  as  you 
was  to  be  sure  to  'ave  your  breakfast,  and  I  shouldn't 
know  how  to  fyce  'im  if  'e  was  to  know  that  you'd 
gone  awye  without  so  much  as  a  hegg." 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "I  don't  want  to  see  him. 
I  couldn't." 

"Madam  won't  see  Im.  'E's  gone  for  the  dye.  'E 
don't  so  often  heat  at  'ome — 'ardly  never." 

Of  the  courses  before  her  Letty  saw  that  yielding 
was  the  easiest.  Besides,  it  would  give  her  her  break- 
fast, which  was  a  consideration.  Though  she  had 
nominally  dined  on  the  previous  evening,  she  had  not 
been  able  to  eat;  she  had  been  too  terrified.  Never 
would  she  forget  the  things  that  had  happened  after 
she  had  given  her  consent  in  the  Park. 

Not  that  outwardly  they  had  been  otherwise  than 
commonplace.  It  was  going  through  them  at  all !  The 
man  was  as  nearly  "off  his  chimip" — ^the  expression 
was  hers — ^as  a  human  being  could  be  without  laying 
himself  open  to  arrest.  After  calling  the  taxi  in  Fifth 
Avenue  he  had  walked  up  and  down,  compelling  her 
to  walk  by  his  side,  for  a  good  fifteen  minutes  before 
making  her  get  in  and  springing  in  beside  her.  At  the 
house  opposite  he  had  stared  arid  stared,  as  if  hoping 
that  some  one  would  look  out.  During  the  drive  to 
the  place  where  they  got  the  license,  and  later  to  the 
minister's  house,  he  spoke  not  a  word.  In  the  restau- 
rant to  which  he  took  her  afterward,  the  moat  glorious 
place  she  had  ever  been  in,  he  ordered  a  feast  suited 
to  a  queen,  but  she  could  hardly  do  more  than  taste  it. 
She  felt  that  the  waiter  was  looking  at  them  strangely, 
and  she  didn't  know  the  uses  of  the  knives  and  forks. 

53 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

The  man  she  had  married  offered  her  no  help,  neither 
speaking  to  her  nor  giving  her  a  glance.  He  himself 
ate  but  little,  lost  in  some  mental  maze  to  which  she 
had  no  clue. 

After  dinner  he  had  proposed  the  theatre,  but  she 
had  refused.  She  couldn't  go  anywhere  else  with  him. 
Wherever  they  moved,  a  thousand  eyes  were  turned 
in  amazement  at  the  extraordinary  pair.  He  saw 
nothing,  but  she  was  alive  to  it  all — more  conscious 
of  her  hat  and  suit  than  even  in  the  street  scene  in 
"The  Man  with  the  Emerald  Eye."  Once  and  for  all 
she  became  aware  that  the  first  standard  for  human 
valuation  is  in  clothes. 

In  the  end  they  had  got  into  another  taxi,  to  be 
driven  round  and  round  the  Park  and  out  along  the 
river  bank,  till  he  decided  that  they  might  go  home. 
During  all  this  time  he  hardly  noticed  her.  Once  he 
asked  her  if  she  was  warm  enough,  and  once  if  she 
would  like  to  get  out  and  take  a  walk  along  the  parapet 
above  the  river,  but  otherwise  he  was  withdrawn  into 
a  world  which  he  kept  shut  and  locked  against  her. 
That  left  her  alone.  She  had  never  felt  so  much 
alone  in  her  life,  not  even  in  the  days  which  followed 
her  mother's  death.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  snatched 
away  from  everything  with  which  she  was  familiar, 
to  find  herself  stranded  in  a  country  of  fantastic 
dreams. 

Then  there  was  the  house  and  the  little  back  room. 
By  the  use  of  his  latchkey  they  had  entered  a  palace 
huge  and  dark.  Letty  didn't  know  that  people  lived 
with  so  much  space  around  them.  Only  a  hall  light 
burned  in  a  many-colored  oriental  lamp,  and  in  the 

54 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

half -gloom  the  rooms  on  each  side  of  the  entry  were 
cavernous.  There  was  not  a  servant,  not  a  sound. 
The  only  living  thing  was  a  little  dog  which  pattered 
out  of  the  obscurity  and,  raising  his  paws  against  her 
skirt,  adopted  her  instantaneously. 

"He  was  my  mother's  dog,"  Allerton  explained 
briefly.  "He  likes  women,  but  not  men,  though  he's 
never  taken  to  the  women  in  the  house.  He'll  probably 
like  you.  His  name  is  Beppo.  I'll  show  you  up  at 
once." 

The  grandeur  of  the  staircase  was  overpowering, 
and  the  little  back  spare-room  of  a  magnificence  beyond 
all  her  experience  outside  of  movie-sets.  The  flowers 
on  the  chintz  coverings  were  prettier  than  real  ones, 
and  there  was  a  private  bath.  Letty  had  heard  of 
private  baths,  but  no  picture  she  had  ever  painted 
equaled  this  dainty  apartment  in  which  everything 
was  of  spotless  white  except  where  a  flight  of  blue- 
gray  gulls  skimmed  over  a  blue  summer  sea. 

The  objects  in  the  bedroom  were  too  lovely  to  live 
with.  On  the  toilet  table  were  boxes  and  trays  which 
Letty  supposed  must  be  priceless,  and  a  set  of  brushes 
with  silver  backs.  She  couldn't  brush  her  hair  with 
a  brush  with  a  silver  back,  because  it  would  be  jour- 
neying too  far  beyond  real  life  into  that  of  fairy 
princesses.  On  opening  the  closet  to  hang  up  her 
jacket  the  very  hangers  were  puffed  and  covered  with 
the  "sweetest  flowered  silks,"  so  she  hung  her  jacket 
on  a  peg. 

But  she  wasn't  comfortable,  she  wasn't  happy. 
Alice  had  traveled  too  far  into  Wonderland,  and  too 
suddenly.    Unwillingly  she  lay  down  in  a  bed  too  clean 

55 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

and  soft  for  the  human  form,  but  she  couldn't  sleep 
in  it.  She  could  only  tremble  and  toss  and  lie  awake 
and  wish  for  the  morning.  With  the  dawn  she  would 
be  up  and  off,  before  any  one  caught  sight  of  her. 

For  AUerton  had  used  words  which  had  terrified 
her  more  than  anything  that  had  yet  happened  or 
been  said — "the  other  women  in  the  house!"  Not 
till  then  had  she  sufficiently  visualized  the  life  into 
which  he  was  taking  her  to  imderstand  that  there 
would  be  other  women  there.  Now  that  she  knew  it, 
she  couldn't  face  them,  ^be  could  have  faced  men. 
Men,  after  all,  were  simple  creatures  with  only  a  rudi- 
mentary power  of  judgment.  But  women !  God !  She 
pulled  the  eiderdown  about  her  head  so  as  not  to  cry 
out  so  loudly  that  she  would  be  heard.  What  mad 
thing  had  she  done  ?  What  had  she  let  herself  in  for  ? 
She  didn't  ask  what  kind  of  women  they  would  be — 
members  of  his  family  or  servants.  She  didn't  care. 
All  women  were  alike.  The  woman  was  not  born  who 
wouldn't  view  a  girl  in  her  unconventional  situation, 
"and  especially  in  that  rig" — once  more  the  expression 
was  her  own — ^without  a  condemnation  which  Letty 
could  not  and  would  not  submit  herself  to.  So  she 
would  get  up  and  steal  away  with  the  first  gleam  of 
light. 

She  got  up  with  the  first  gleam  of  light,  but  she 
couldn't  steal  away.  Once  more  she  was  afraid.  Un- 
locking the  door,  she  dared  not  venture  out.  Who 
knew  where,  in  that  palace  of  cavernous  apartments, 
she  might  meet  a  woman,  or  what  the  woman  would 
say  to  her?  When  Nettie  walked  in  later,  humming 
a  street  air,  Letty  almost  died  from  shame.    For  one 

56 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

thing,  she  hadn't  yet  put  on  her  shirtwaist,  which  in 
itself  was  poor  enough,  and  as  she  stood  exposed  with- 
out it,  any  other  of  her  sex  could  see.  .  .  .  She  had 
once  been  on  the  studio  lot  when  a  girl  of  about  her 
own  age,  a  "supe"  like  herself,  was  arrested  for  thiev- 
ing in  the  women's  dressing-rooms.  Letty  had  never 
forgotten  the  look  in  that  girl's  face  as  she  passed  out 
through  the  crowd  of  her  colleagues.  In  Nettie's  pres- 
ence she  felt  like  that  girl's  look. 

She  had  no  means  of  telling  the  time,  but  when  she 
could  no  longer  endure  the  imprisonment  she  decided 
to  make  a  bolt  for  it.  She  hadn't  been  thieving,  and 
so  they  couldn't  do  anything  to  her — and  there  was  a 
chance  at  least  that  she  might  get  away.  Opening  the 
door  cautiously,  she  stole  out  on  the  landing,  and  there 
was,  not  a  woman,  but  a  man ! 

Joy !  A  man  would  listen  to  her  appeal.  He  would 
see  that  she  was  poor,  common,  unequal  to  a  dump  so 
swell,  and  would  be  human  and  tender.  He  was  a  nice 
looking  old  man  too — she  was  able  to  notice  that — 
with  a  long,  kindly  face  on  which  there  were  two 
spots  of  bloom  as  if  he  had  been  rouged.  So  she 
capitulated  to  his  plea,  making  only  the  condition  that 
if  she  took  the  hegg — she  pronounced  the  word  as  he 
did,  not  being  sure  as  to  what  it  meant — she  should 
be  free  to  go. 

"Certainly,  if  madam  wishes  it.  I'm  sure  the  last 
thing  Mr.  Allerton  would  desire  would  be  to  detain 
madam  against  'er  will." 

She  allowed  herself  to  be  ushered  down  the  monu- 
mental stairs  and  into  the  dining-room,  which  awed 
her  with  the  solemnity  of  a  church.    She  knew  at  once 

57 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

that  she  wouldn't  be  able  to  eat  amid  this  stateliness 
any  more  than  in  the  glitter  of  last  evening's  restau- 
rant. She  had  yielded,  however,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  sit  down  at  the  head  of  the  table  in  the 
chair  which  Steptoe  drew  out  for  her.  Guessing  at 
her  most  immediate  embarrassment,  he  showed  her 
what  to  do  by  unfolding  the  napkin  and  laying  it  in 
her  lap. 

"Now,  if  madam  will  excuse  me,  I'll  slip  awye  and 
tell  Jyne." 

But  telling  Jjme  was  not  so  simple  a  matter  as  it 
looked.  The  council  in  the  kitchen,  which  at  first 
had  been  a  council  and  no  more,  was  now  a  council  of 
war.    As  Steptoe  entered,  Mrs.  Courage  was  saying : 

"I  shall  go  to  Mr.  Rashleigh  'imself  and  tell  'im 
that  hunder  the  sjnne  roof  with  a  baggage  none  of 
us  will  stye." 

"You  can  syve  yourself  the  trouble,  Mrs.  Courage," 
Steptoe  informed  her.  "Mr.  Rash  'as  just  gone  out. 
Besides,  I've  good  news  for  all  of  you."  He  waited 
for  each  to  take  an  appropriate  expression,  Mrs.  Cour- 
age determined,  Jane  with  face  eager  and  alight, 
Nettie  tittering  behind  her  hand.  "Miss  Walbrook, 
which  all  of  us  'as  dreaded,  is  not  a-comin'  to  our 
midst.  The  young  lydy  Nettie  see  in  the  back  spare- 
room  is  Mr.  Rashleigh's  wife." 

"Wife!"  Mrs.  Courage  threw  up  her  hands  and 
staggered  backward.  "  *Im  that  'is  mother  left  to 
me!    'Courage,'  says  she,  'when  I'm  gone •" 

Jane  crept  forward,  horrified,  stunned.  'Them 
things  can't  be,  Steptoe." 

"Mr.  Rash  told  me  so  'imself.  I  don't  know  what 
58 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

more  we  want  than  that."  Steptoe  was  not  without 
his  diplomacy.  "It's  a  fine  thing  for  us,  girls.  This 
sweet  young  lydy  is  not  goin'  to  myke  us  no  trouble 
like  what  the  other  one  would,  and  belongs  right  in 
our  own  class." 

"  'Enery  Steptoe,  speak  for  yourself,"  Mrs.  Cour- 
age said,  severely.  'There's  no  baggages  in  my  class, 
nor  never  was,  nor  never  will  be." 

Jane  began  to  cry.  "I'm  sure  I  try  to  think  the 
best  of  everyone,  but  when  such  awful  things  'appens 
and  'omes  is  broken  up " 

"Jynie,"  Steptoe  said  with  authority,  "the  young 
missus  is  wytin'  for  'er  breakfast.  'Ave  the  good- 
ness to  tyke  'er  in  'er  grypefruit." 

"J)me  Cakebread,"  Mrs.  Courage  declared,  with  an 
authority  even  greater  than  Steptoe's,  "the  first  as 
tykes  a  grypefruit  into  that  dinin'-room,  to  set  before 
them  as  I  shouldn't  demean  myself  to  n)mie,  comes 
hunder  my  displeasure." 

"I  couldn't,  Steptoe,"  Jane  pleaded  helplessly.  "All 
my  life  I've  wyted  on  lydies.  'Ow  can  you  expect 
me  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  at  my  time  o*  life?" 

"Nettie?"     Steptoe  made  the  appeal  magisterially. 

"Oh,  I'll  do  it,"  Nettie  giggled.  "  'Appy  to  get 
another  look  at  'er.    I  sye,  she's  a  sight !" 

But  Mrs.  Courage  barred  the  way.  "My  ntece  will 
W5i:e  on  people  of  doubtful  conduck  over  my  dead 
corpse." 

"Very  well,  then,  Mrs.  Courage,"  Steptoe  reasoned. 
"If  you  won't  serve  the  new  missus,  Mr.  Rashleigh, 
will  'ave  to  get  some  one  else  who  will." 

"Mr.  Rashleigh  will  'ave  to  do  that  very  selfsame 
5  59 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

thing.  Not  another  night  will  none  o£  us  sleep  hunder 
this  paternal  roof  with  them  that  their  very  presence 
is  a  houtrage.  'Enery  Steptoe  was  always  a  time- 
server,  and  a  time-server  'e  will  be,  but  as  for  us 
women,  we  shall  see  the  new  missus  in  goin'  in  to 
give  'er  notice.  Not  a  month's  notice,  it  won't  be. 
This  range  as  I've  cooked  at  for  nearly  thirty  years 
I  shall  cook  at  no  more,  not  so  much  as  for  lunch. 
Oh,  dear!    Oh,  dear!    What's  the  world  comin'  to?" 

In  spite  of  her  strength  of  character  Mrs.  Courage 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  burst  into  tears. 
Jane  was  weeping  already. 

"There,  there,  aunt,'*  Nettie  begged,  patting  her 
relative  between  the  shoulders.  "What's  the  good  o* 
goin'  on  like  that  just  because  a  silly  ass  'as  married 
beneath  'im?" 

Mrs.  Courage  pulled  her  apron  from  her  face  to 
cry  out  with  passion : 

"If  'e  was  goin'  to  disgryce  'imself  like  that,  why 
couldn't  'e  'a  taken  you?" 

So  Steptoe  waited  on  Letty  himself,  bringing  in  the 
grapefruit,  the  coffee,  the  egg,  and  the  toast,  and  see- 
ing that  she  knew  how  to  deal  with  each  in  the  proper 
forms.  He  was  so  brooding,  so  yearning,  so  tactful, 
as  he  bent  over  her,  that  she  was  never  at  a  loss  as  to 
the  fork  or  spoon  she  ought  to  use,  or  the  minute  at 
which  to  use  it.  Under  his  protection  Letty  ate. 
She  ate,  first  because  she  was  young  and  hungry,  and 
then  because  she  felt  him  standing  between  her  and 
all  vague  terrors.  By  the  time  she  had  finished,  he 
moved  in  front  of  her,  where  he  could  speak  as  one 
human  being  to  another. 

60 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Taking  an  empty  plate  from  the  table  to  put  it  on 
the  sideboard,  he  said :  "I  'ope  madam  is  chyngin'  'er 
mind  about  leavin'  us." 

Letty  glanced  up  shyly  in  spite  of  being  somewhat 
reassured.  "What'ud  be  the  good  of  my  changin'  my 
mind  when — ^when  I'm  not  fit  to  stay?" 

"Madam  means  not  fit  in  the  sense  that " 

"I'm  not  a  lady." 

Resting  one  hand  on  the  table,  he  looked  down 
into  her  eyes  with  an  expression  such  as  Letty  had 
never  before  seen  in  a  human  face. 

"I  could  myke  a  lydy  of  madam." 

At  the  sound  of  these  quiet  words,  so  confidently 
spoken,  something  passed  through  Letty's  frame  to 
be  described  only  by  the  hard-worked  word,  a  thrill. 
It  was  a  double  current  of  vibration,  partly  of  upleap- 
ing  hope,  partly  of  the  desperate  sense  of  her  own 
limitations.  A  hundred  points  of  gold  dust  were 
aflame  in  her  irises  as  she  said : 

"You  mean  that  you'd  put  me  wise?  Oh,  but  I'd 
never  learn !" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  madam  would  pick  up 
very  quick." 

"And  I'd  never  be  able  to  talk  the  right " 

"I  could  learn  madam  to  talk  just  as  good 
as  me." 

It  seemed  too  much.  She  clasped  her  hands.  It 
was  the  nearest  point  she  had  ever  reached  to  ecstasy. 
"Oh,  do  you  think  you  could?  You  talk  somethin* 
beautiful,  you  do!" 

He  smiled  modestly.  "I've  always  lived  with  the 
best  people,  and  I  suppose  I  ketch  their  wyes.    I  know 

6i 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

what  a  gentleman  is — and  a  lydy.  I  know  all  a 
lydy's  little  'abits,  and  before  two  or  three  months 
was  over  madam  'ud  'ave  them  as  natural  as  natural, 
if  she  wouldn't  think  me  overbold.'* 

"When  'ud  you  begin?'* 

The  bright  spot  deepened  in  each  cheek.  "Fve 
begun  already,  if  madam  won't  think  me  steppin'  out 
o'  my  plyce  to  sye  so,  in  showin*  madam  the  spoons 
and  forks  for  the  different '* 

Letty  colored,  too.  "Yes,  I  saw  that.  I  take  it 
as  very  kind.  But — "  she  looked  at  him  with  a  puz- 
zled knitting  of  the  brows —  "but  what  makes  you 
take  all  this  trouble  for  me  ?" 

"I've  two  reasons,  madam,  but  I'll  only  tell  you  one 
of  *em  just  now.  The  other'll  keep.  I'll  myke  it 
known  to  you  if — if  all  goes  as  I  'ope."  He  straight- 
ened himself  up.  "I  don't  often  speak  o'  this,"  he 
continued,  '"because  among  us  butlers  and  valets  it 
wouldn't  be  understood.  Most  of  us  is  what's  known 
as  conservative,  all  for  the  big  families  and  the  old 
wyes.    Well,  so  am  I — ^to  a  point.    But " 

He  moved  a  number  of  objects  on  the  table  before 
he  could  go  on.  "I  wasn't  bom  to  the  plyce  I  'old 
now,"  he  explained  after  getting  his  material  at  com- 
mand. "I  wasn't  born  to  nothink.  I  was  what  they 
calls  in  England  a  foundlin' — a  byby  what's  found — 
what  'is  parents  'ave  thrown  awye.  I  don't  know  who 
my  father  and  mother  was,  or  what  was  my  real 
nyme.  'Enery  Steptoe  is  just  a  nyme  they  give  me  at 
the  Horphanage.  But  I  won't  go  into  that.  I'm  just 
tryin'  to  tell  madam  that  my  life  was  a  'ard  one,  quite 
a  'ard  one,  till  I  come  to  New  York  as  footman  for 

62 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Mr.  Allerton's  father,  and  afterward  worked  up  to  be 
'is  valet  and  butler." 

He  cleared  his  throat.  Expressing  ideals  was  not 
easy.  "I  'ope  madam  will  forgive  me  if  I  sye  that 
what  it  learned  me  was  a  fellow-feelin'  with  my  own 
sort — with  the  poor.  I've  often  wished  as  I  could  go 
out  among  the  poor  and  ryse  them  up.  I  ain't  a 
socialist — a.  little  bit  of  a  anarchist  perhaps,  but  nothink 
extreme — ^and  yet — ^Well,  if  Mr.  Rashleigh  had  mar- 
ried a  rich  girl,  I  would  'a  tyken  it  as  natural  and 
done  my  best  for  'im,  but  since  'e  'asn't — Oh,  can't 
madam  see  ?  It's — it's  a  kind  o'  pride  with  me  to  find 
some  one  like — like  what  I  was  when  I  was  'er  age — 
out  in  the  cold  like — and  bring  'er  in — ^and  'elp  'er  to 
tryne  'erself — so — so  as — some  day — ^to  beat  the  best 
— ^them  as  'as  'ad  all  the  chances " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  tinkle  of  the  telephone. 
It  was  a  relief.  He  had  said  all  he  needed  to  say,  all 
he  knew  how  to  say.  Whether  madam  understood  it 
or  not  he  couldn't  tell,  since  she  didn't  seize  ideas 
quickly. 

"If  madam  will  excuse  me  now,  I'll  go  and  answer 
that  call." 

But  Letty  sprang  up  in  alarm.  "Oh,  don't  leave 
me.    Some  of  them  women  will  blow  in " 

"None  of  them  women  will  come — "  he  threw  a 
delicate  emphasis  on  the  word — "if  madam'll  just  sit 
down.  They  don't  mean  to  come.  I'll  explyne  that  to 
madam  when  I  come  back,  if  she'll  cwily  not  leave 
this  room," 


63 


Chapter  VI 

"/^OOD   morning,   Steptoe.       Will  you  ask  Mr. 
vJ   Allerton  if  he'll  speak  to  Miss  Walbrook?" 

"Mr.  Allerton  'as  gone  to  the  New  Netherlands 
Club  for  'is  breakfast,  miss." 

"Oh,  thanks.    I'll  call  him  up  there." 

She  didn't  want  to  call  him  up  there,  at  a  club, 
where  a  man  must  like  to  feel  safe  from  feminine 
intrusion,  but  the  matter  was  too  pressing  to  per- 
mit of  hesitation.  Since  the  previous  afternoon  she 
had  gone  through  much  searching  of  heart.  She 
was  accustomed  to  strong  reactions  from  tempestu- 
ousness  to  penitence,  but  not  of  the  violence  of 
this  one. 

Summoned  to  the  telephone,  Allerton  felt  as  if 
summoned  to  the  bar  of  judgment.  He  divined  who 
it  was,  and  he  divined  the  reason  for  the  call. 

"Good  morning,  Rash !" 

His  voice  was  absolutely  dead.  "Good  morning, 
Barbara!" 

"I  know  you're  cross  with  me  for  calling  you  at 
the  club." 

"Oh,  no!    Not  at  all!" 

"But  I  couldn't  wait  any  longer.  I  wanted  you  to 
know — I've  got  it  on  again.  Rash — never  to  come  off 
any  more." 

He  was  dumb.  Thirty  seconds  at  least  went  by, 
and  he  had  made  no  response. 

64 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Aren't  you  glad?" 

"I — I  could  have  been  glad — if — if  I'd  known  you 
were  going  to  do  it." 

"And  now  you  know  that  it's  done," 

He  repeated  in  his  lifeless  voice,  "Yes,  now  I  know 
that  it's  done." 

"Well?" 

Again  he  was  silent.  Two  or  three  times  he  tried  to 
find  words,  producing  nothing  but  a  stammering  of 
incoherent  syllables.  "I — I  can't  talk  about  it  here, 
Barbe,"  he  managed  to  articulate  at  last.  "You  must 
let  me  come  round  and  see  you." 

It  was  her  voice  now  that  was  dead.  **When  will 
you  come,  Rash?" 

"Now — at  once — if  you  can  see  me." 

"Then  come." 

She  put  up  the  receiver  without  saying  more.  He 
knew  that  she  knew.  She  knew  at  least  that  some- 
thing had  happened  which  was  fatal  to  them  both. 

She  received  him  not  in  the  drawing-room,  but 
in  a  little  den  on  the  right  of  the  front  door  which 
was  also  alive  with  Miss  Walbrook's  modem  per- 
sonality. A  gold-colored  portiere  from  Albert  Her- 
ter's  looms  screened  them  from  the  hall,  and  the 
chairs  were  covered  with  bits  of  Herter  tapestry 
representing  fruits.  A  cabinet  of  old  white  Benning- 
ton faience  stood  against  a  wall,  which  was  further 
adorned  with  three  or  four  etchings  of  Sears  Gal- 
lagher's. Barbara  wore  a  lacy  thing  in  hydrangea- 
colored  crepe  de  chine,  loosely  girt  with  a  jade-green 
ribbon  tasselled  in  gold,  the  whole  bringing  out  the 
faintly  Egyptian  note  in  her  personality. 

65 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

They  dispensed  with  a  greeting,  because  she  spoke 
the  minute  he  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  room. 

"Rash,  what  is  it?  Why  couldn't  you  tell  me  on 
the  telephone  ?" 

He  wished  now  that  he  had.  It  would  have  saved 
this  explanation  face  to  face.  "Because  I  couldn't. 
Because — because  I've  been  too  much  of  an  idiot 
to — to  tell  you  about  it — either  on  the  telephone  or  in 
any  other  way." 

"How?"  He  thought  she  must  understand,  but 
she  seemed  purposely  dense.  "Sit  down.  Tell  me 
about  it.  It  can't  be  so  terrible — ^all  of  a  sudden  like 
this." 

He  couldn't  sit  down.  He  could  only  turn  away 
from  her  and  gulp  in  his  dry  throat.  "You  remem- 
ber what  I  said — ^what  I  said — ^yesterday — about — 
about  the — the  Gissing  fellow?" 

She  nodded  fiercely.     "Yes.    Go  on.     Get  it  out." 

♦'Well— well— I've— I've  done  that." 

She  threw  out  her  arms.  She  threw  back  her  head 
till  the  little  nut-brown  throat  was  taut.  The  cry 
rent  her.    It  rent  him. 

"Yoxi—fooir 

He  stood  with  head  hanging.  He  longed  to  run 
away,  and  yet  he  longed  also  to  throw  himself  at  her 
feet.  If  he  could  have  done  exactly  as  he  felt  im- 
pelled, he  would  have  laid  his  head  on  her  breast  and 
wept  like  a  child. 

She  swung  away  from  him,  pacing  the  small  room 
like  a  frenzied  animal.  Her  breath  came  in  short, 
hard  pantings  that  were  nearly  sobs.  Suddenly  she 
stopped  in  front  of  him  with  a  sort  of  calm. 

66 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"What  made  you?" 

He  barely  lifted  his  agonized  black  e3res.    **You." 

She  was  in  revolt  again.     "I?    What  did  I  do?" 

"You — ^you  threw  away  my  ring.  You  said  it  was 
all — ^all  over." 

"Well?  Couldn't  I  say  that  without  driving  you 
to  act  the  madman?  No  one  but  a  madman  would 
have  gone  out  of  this  house  and — "  She  clasped 
her  forehead  in  her  hands  with  a  dramatic  lifting  of 
the  arms.  "Oh !  It's  too  much !  I  don't  care  about 
myself.  But  to  have  it  on  your  conscience  that  a  man 
has  thrown  his  life  away " 

He  asked  meekly,  "What  good  was  it  to  me  when 
you  wouldn't  have  it?" 

She  stamped  her  foot.  "Rash,  you'll  drive  me 
insane.  Your  life  might  be  no  good  to  you  at  all, 
and  yet  you  might  give  it  a  chance  for  twenty-four 
hours — ^that  isn't  much,  is  it? — ^before  you — "  She 
caught  herself  up.  "Tell  me.  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  you're  married  f* 

He  nodded. 

"To  whom?" 

"Her  first  name  is  Letty.  I've  forgotten  the  sec- 
ond name." 

"Where  did  you  find  her?" 

"Over  there  in  the  Park." 

"And  she  went  and  married  you — like  that?" 

"She  was  all  alone — chucked  out  by  a  stepfather; 


She  burst  into  a  hard  laugh.  "Oh,  you  baby!  You 
believed  that  ?  The  kind  of  story  that's  told  by  nine 
of  the  " 

67 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

He  interrupted  quickly.  "Don't  call  her  anything, 
Barbe — I  mean  any  kind  of  a  bad  name.  She's  all 
right  as  far  as  that  goes.  There's  a  kind  that  couldn't 
take  you  in." 

"There's  no  kind  that  couldn't  take  you  in !" 

"Perhaps  not,  but  it's  the  one  thing  in — in  this 
whole  idiotic  business  that's  on  the  level — I  mean  she 
is.  I'd  give  my  right  hand  to  put  her  back  where  I 
found  her  yesterday — just  as  she  was — but  she's 
straight." 

She  dropped  into  a  chair.  The  first  wild  tumult 
of  rage  having  more  or  less  spent  its  force,  she  began, 
with  a  kind  of  heart-broken  curiosity,  to  ask  for  the 
facts.  She  spoke  nervously,  beating  a  palm  with  a 
gold  tassel  of  her  girdle.  "Begin  at  the  beginning. 
Tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  leaned  on  the  mantelpiece,  of  which  the  only 
ornaments  were  a  child's  head  in  white  and  blue  terra 
cotta  by  Paul  Manship,  balanced  by  a  pair  of  old 
American  glass  candlesticks,  and  told  the  tale  as  con- 
secutively as  he  could.  He  recounted  everything,  even 
to  the  bringing  her  home,  the  putting  her  in  the  little, 
back  spare-room,  and  her  adoption  by  Beppo,  the  red 
cocker  spaniel.  By  the  time  he  had  finished,  his  heart 
was  a  little  eased,  and  some  of  her  tenderness  toward 
him  was  beginning  to  flow  forth.  She  was  like  that, 
all  wrath  at  one  minute,  all  gentleness  the  next. 
Springing  to  her  feet,  she  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
pressing  herself  against  him. 

"All  right.  Rash.  You've  done  it.  That's  settled. 
But  it  can  be  undone  again." 

He  pressed  her  head  back  from  him,  resting  the 
68 


BY  THE  TIME   HE   HAD  FINISHED,   HIS   HEART  WAS  A  LITTLE  EASED  AND 
SOME  OF    HER  TENDERNESS   BEGAN   TO  FLOW  TOWARD    HIM 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

knot  of  her  hair  in  the  hollow  of  his  palm  and  look- 
ing down  into  her  eyes. 

"How  can  it  be  undone  ?" 

"Oh,  there  must  be  ways.  A  man  can't  be  allowed 
to  ruin  his  life — to  ruin  two  lives — for  a  prank.  We'll 
just  have  to  think.  If  you  made  it  worth  while  for 
her  to  take  you,  you  can  make  it  worth  while  for  her 
to  let  you  go.    She'll  do  it." 

"She'd  do  it,  of  course.  She  doesn't  care.  I'm 
nothing  to  her,  not  any  more  than  she  to  me.  I 
shan't  see  her  any  more  than  I  can  help.  I  suppose 
she  must  stay  at  the  house  till — I  told  Steptoe  to  look 
after  her." 

She  took  a  position  at  one  end  of  the  mantelpiece, 
while  he  faced  her  from  the  other.  She  gave  him 
wise  counsel.  He  was  to  see  his  lawyers  at  once  and 
tell  them  the  whole  story.  Lawyers  always  saw  the 
way  out  of  things.  There  was  the  Bellington  boy 
who  married  a  show-girl.  She  had  been  bought  oflF, 
and  the  lawyers  had  managed  it.  Now  the  Bellington 
boy  was  happily  married  to  one  of  the  Plantagenet 
Jones  girls  and  lived  at  Marillo  Park.  Then  there  was 
the  Silliman  boy  who  had  married  the  notorious  Kate 
Cookesley.  The  lawyers  had  found  the  way  out  of 
that,  too,  and  now  the  Silliman  boy  was  a  secretary 
of  the  American  Embassy  in  Rome.  Accidents  such 
as  had  happened  to  Rash  were  regrettable  of  course, 
but  it  would  be  folly  to  think  that  a  perfectly  good 
life  must  be  done  for  just  because  it  had  got  a  crack 
in  it. 

"We'll  play  the  game,  of  course,"  she  wound  up. 
"But  it's  a  game,  and  the  stronger  side  must  win. 

69 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

yrhat  should  you  say  of  my  going  to  see  her — she 
needn't  know  who  I  am  further  than  that  I'm  a  friend 
of  yours — and  finding  out  for  myself?" 

"Finding  out  what  ?" 

"Finding  out  her  price,  silly.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose ?  A  woman  can  often  see  things  like  that  where 
a  man  would  be  blind." 

He  didn't  know.  He  thought  it  might  be  worth 
while.  He  would  leave  it  to  her.  "I'm  not  worth 
the  trouble,  Barbe,"  he  said  humbly. 

With  this  she  agreed.  "I  know  you're  not.  I  can't 
think  for  a  minute  why  I  take  it  or  why  I  should 
h'ke  you.     But  I  do.    That's  straight." 

"And  I  adore  you,  Barbe.'* 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  little,  comic 
grimace.  "Oh,  well!  I  suppose  every  one  has  his 
own  way  of  showing  adoration,  but  I  must  say  that 
yours  is  original." 

**If  it*s  original  to  be  desperate  when  the  woman 
you  worship  drives  you  to  despair " 

There  was  another  little  comic  grimace,  though  less 
comic  than  the  first  time.  "Oh,  yes,  I  know.  It's 
always  the  woman  whom  a  man  worships  that's  in 
the  wrong.  I've  noticed  that.  Men  are  never  impos- 
sible— ^all  of  their  own  accord." 

"I  could  be  as  tame  as  a  cat  if " 

"If  it  wasn't  for  me.  Thank  you.  Rash.  I  said 
just  now  I  was  fond  of  you,  and  I  should  have  ten 
be  to — ^to  stand  for  all  the " 

"I'm  not  blaming  you,  Barbe.    I'm  only " 

"Thanks  again.  The  day  you're  not  blaming  me  is 
certainly  one  to  be  marked  with  a  white  stone,  as  the 

70 


THE   DUST    FLOWER 

Romans  used  to  say.  But  if  it  comes  to  blaming  any 
one,  Rash,  after  what  happened  yesterday " 

"What  happened  yesterday  wasn't  begun  by  me. 
It  would  never  have  entered  my  mind  to  do  the  crazy 
thing  I  did,  if  you  hadn't  positively  and  finally — ^as  I 
thought— flung  me  down.  I  think  you  must  do  me 
that  justice,  Barbe — that  justice,  at  the  least." 

"Oh,  I  do  you  justice  enough.  I  don't  see  that  you 
can  complain  of  that.  It  seems  to  me  too  that  I 
temper  justice  with  mercy  to  a  degree  that — ^that  most 
people  find  ridiculous." 

"By  most  people  I  suppose  you  mean  your  aunt." 

"Oh,  do  leave  Aunt  Marion  out  of  it.  You  can't 
forgive  the  poor  thing  for  not  liking  you.  Well,  she 
doesn't,  and  I  can't  help  it.    She  thinks  you're  a " 

"A  fool — as  you  were  polite  enough  to  say  just 
now." 

She  spread  her  hands  apart  in  an  attitude  of  prot- 
estation. "Well,  if  I  did,  Rash,  surely  you  must 
admit  that  I  had  provocation." 

"Oh,  of  course.  The  wonder  is  that  with  the  prov- 
ocation you  can " 

"Forgive  you,  and  try  to  patch  it  up  again  after 
this  frightful  gash  in  the  agreement.  Well,  it  is  a 
wonder.    I  don't  believe  that  many  girls " 

"I  only  want  you  to  understand,  Barbe,  that  the 
gash  in  the  agreement  was  made,  not  by  what  I  did, 
but  what  you  did.  If  you  hadn't  sent  me  to  the  devil, 
I  shouldn't  have  been  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  there." 

She  was  off.  "Yes,  there  you  are  again.  Always 
me!  I'm  the  one!  You  may  be  the  gunpowder,  the 
perfectly  harmless  gunpowder,   but  it  would  never 

71 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

blow  up  if  I  didn't  come  as  the  match.  /  make  all 
the  explosions.  /  set  you  crazy.  /  send  you  to  the 
devil.  /  make  you  go  and  marry  a  girl  you  never 
laid  eyes  on  in  your  life  before." 

So  it  was  the  same  old  scene  all  over  again,  till 
both  were  exhausted,  and  she  had  flung  herself  into 
a  chair  to  cover  her  face  with  her  hands  and  burst 
into  tears.    Instantly  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"Barbe !  Barbe !  My  beloved  Barbe !  Don't  cry. 
I'm  a  brute.  I'm  a  fool.  I'm  not  satisfied  with 
breaking  my  own  heart,  but  I  must  go  to  work  and 
break  yours.  Oh,  Barbe,  forgive  me.  I'm  all  to 
pieces.  Forgive  me  and  let  me  go  away  and  shoot 
myself.  What's  the  good  of  a  poor,  wrecked  creature 
like  me  hanging  on  and  making  such  a  mess  of  things  ? 
Let  me  kill  myself  before  I  kill  you " 

"Oh,  hush!" 

Seizing  his  head,  she  pressed  it  against  her  bosom 
convulsively.  By  the  shaking  of  his  shoulders,  she 
felt  him  sob.  He  was  a  poor  creature.  She  was  say- 
ing so  to  herself.  But  just  because  he  was,  something 
in  her  yearned  over  him.  He  could  be  different;  he 
could  be  stronger  and  of  value  in  the  world  if  there 
was  only  some  one  to  handle  him  rightly.  She  could 
do  it — if  she  could  only  learn  to  handle  herself.  She 
would  learn  to  handle  herself — for  his  sake.  He  was 
worth  saving.  He  had  fine  qualities,  and  a  good  heart 
most  of  all.  It  was  his  very  fineness  which  put  him 
out  of  place  in  a  world  like  that  of  New  York.  He 
was  a  delicate,  brittle,  highly-wrought  thing  which 
should  be  touched  only  with  the  greatest  care,  and  all 
his  life  he  had  been  pushed  and  hurtled  about  as  if 

72 


THE    DUST    FLOWER  / 

he  were  a  football  player  or  a  business  man.  With 
the  soul  of  a  poet  or  a  painter  or  a  seer,  he  had  been 
treated  like  the  typical  rough-and-ready  American  lad, 
till  the  sensitive  nature  had  been  brutalized,  maimed, 
and  frenzied. 

She  knew  that.  It  was  why  she  cared  for  him. 
Even  when  they  were  children  she  had  seen  that  he 
wasn't  getting  fair  treatment,  either  at  home  or  in 
school  or  among  the  boys  and  girls  with  whom  they 
both  grew  up.  He  was  the  exception,  and  American 
life  allowed  only  for  the  rule.  If  you  couldn't  con- 
form to  the  rule,  you  were  guyed  and  tormented  and 
ejected.  Among  all  his  associates  she  alone  knew 
what  he  suffered,  and  because  she  knew  it  a  vast  pity 
made  her  cling  to  him.  He  had  forced  himself  into 
the  life  of  clubs,  into  the  life  of  society,  into  the  life 
of  other  men  as  other  men  lived  their  lives,  and  the 
effect  on  him  had  been  so  nearly  ruinous  that  it  was 
no  wonder  if  he  was  always  on  the  edge  of  nervous 
explosion.  His  very  wealth  which  might  have  been  a 
piv-tection  was,  under  the  uniform  pressure  of  Amer- 
ican social  habit,  an  incitement  to  him  to  follow  the 
wrong  way.  She  knew  it,  and  she  alone.  She  could 
save  him,  and  she  alone.  She  could  save  him,  if  she 
could  first  of  all  save  herself. 

With  his  head  pressed  against  her  she  made  the 
vow  as  she  had  made  it  fifty  times  already.  She  would 
be  gentle  with  him;  she  would  be  patient;  she  would 
let  him  work  off  on  her  the  agony  of  his  suffering 
nerves,  and  smile  at  him  through  it  all.  She  would 
help  him  out  of  the  idiotic  situation  in  which  he  found 
himself.     The  other  girl  was  only  an  incident,  as  the 

73 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

show-girl  had  been  to  the  Bellington  boy,  and  could 
be  disposed  of.  She  attached  to  that  only  a  secondary 
importance  in  comparison  with  the  whole  thing — her 
saving  him.  She  would  save  him,  even  if  it  meant 
rooting  out  every  instinct  in  her  soul. 

But  as  he  made  his  way  blindly  back  to  the  club, 
his  own  conclusions  were  different.  He  must  go  to 
the  devil.  He  must  go  to  the  devil  now,  whatever  else 
he  did.  Groing  to  the  devil  would  set  her  free  from  him. 
It  was  the  only  thing  that  would.  It  would  set  him 
free  from  the  other  woman,  set  him  free  from  life 
itself.  Life  tortured  him.  He  was  a  misfit  in  it. 
He  should  never  have  been  born.  He  had  always 
understood  that  his  parents  hadn't  wanted  children 
and  that  his  coming  had  been  resented.  You  couldn't 
be  bom  like  that  and  find  it  natural  to  be  in  the  world. 
He  had  never  found  it  natural.  He  couldn't  remem- 
ber the  time  when  he  hadn't  been  out  of  his  element  in 
life,  and  now  he  must  recognize  the  fact  courageously. 

It  would  be  easy  enough.  He  had  worked  up  an 
artificial  appetite  for  all  that  went  under  the  head 
of  debauchery.  It  had  meant  difficult  schooling  at 
first,  because  his  natural  tastes  were  averse  to  that 
kind  of  thing,  but  he  had  been  schooled.  Schooled 
was  the  word,  since  his  training  had  begun  under  the 
very  roof  where  his  father  had  sent  him  to  get  religion 
and  discipline.  There  had  been  no  let-up  in  this  edu- 
cational course,  except  when  he  himself  had  stolen 
away,  generally  in  solitude,  for  a  little  holiday. 

But  as  he  put  it  to  himself,  he  knew  all  the  roads 
and  by-paths  and  cross-country  leaps  that  would  take 
him  to  the  gutter,  and  to  the  gutter  he  would  go. 

74 


Chapter  VII 

AND  all  this  while  Letty  was  in  the  dining-room, 
k.  learning  certain  lessons  from  her  new-found 
friend. 

For  some  little  time  she  had  been  alone.  Steptoe 
finished  his  conversation  with  Miss  Walbrook  on  the 
telephone,  but  did  not  come  back.  She  sat  at  the 
table  feeding  Beppo  with  bread  and  milk,  but  wonder- 
ing if,  after  all,  she  hadn't  better  make  a  bolt  for  it. 
She  had  had  her  breakfast,  which  was  an  asset  to  the 
good,  and  nothing  worse  could  happen  to  her  out  in 
the  open  world  than  she  feared  in  this  great  dim, 
gloomy  house.  She  had  once  crept  in  to  look  at  the 
cathedral  and,  overwhelmed  by  its  height,  immensity, 
and  mystery,  had  crept  out  again.  Its  emotional  sug- 
gestions had  been  more  than  she  could  bear.  She 
felt  now  as  if  her  bed  had  been  made  and  her  food 
laid  out  in  that  cathedral — as  if,  as  long  as  she  re- 
mained, she  must  eat  and  sleep  in  this  vast,  pillared 
solemnity. 

And  that  was  only  one  thing.  There  were  small 
practical  considerations  even  more  terrible  to  con- 
front.   If  Nettie  were  to  appear  again.  .  .  . 

But  it  was  as  to  this  that  Steptoe  was  making  his 
appeal.  "I  sye,  girls,  don't  you  go  to  mykin'  a  fuss 
and  spoilin'  your  lives,  when  you've  got  a  chanst  as'll 
never  come  again." 

Mrs.  Courage  answered  for  them  all.    To  sacrifice 

6  75 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

decency  to  self-interest  wasn't  in  them,  nor  never 
would  be.  Some  there  might  be,  like  'Enery  Steptoe, 
who  would  sell  their  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage, 
but  Mary  Ann  Courage  was  not  of  that  company,  nor 
any  other  woman  upon  whom  she  could  use  her  influ- 
ence. If  a  hussy  had  been  put  to  reign  over  them, 
reigned  over  by  a  hussy  none  of  them  would  be.  All 
they  asked  was  to  see  her  once,  to  deliver  the  ulti- 
matum of  giving  notice. 

"It's  a  strynge  thing  to  me,"  Steptoe  reasoned, 
"that  when  one  poor  person  gets  a  lift,  every  other 
poor  person  comes  down  on  'em." 

"And  might  we  arsk  who  you  means  by  poor  per- 
sons ?" 

"Who  should  I  mean,  Mrs.  Courage,  but  people 
like  us?  If  we  don't  'ang  by  each  other,  who  urill 
'ang  by  us,  I  should  like  to  know?  'Ere's  one  of  us 
plyced  in  a  'igh  position,  and  instead  o'  bein'  proud  of 
it,  and  givin'  'er  a  lift  to  carry  'er  along,  you're  all 
for  mykin'  it  as  'ard  for  'er  as  you  can.  Do  you  call 
that  sensible?** 

"I  call  it  sensible  for  everyone  to  stye  in  their 
proper  spere.** 

"So  that  if  a  man's  poor,  you  must  keep  'im  poor, 
no  matter  'ow  'e  tries  to  better  'imself.  That's  what 
your  proper  speres  would  come  to.'* 

But  argument  being  of  no  use,  Steptoe  could  only 
make  up  his  mind  to  revolution  in  the  house.  "The 
poor's  very  good  to  the  poor  when  one  of  'em's  in 
trouble,*'  was  his  summing  up,  "but  let  one  of  *em 
*ave  an  extry  stroke  of  luck,  and  all  the  rest'H  jaw 
against  'im  like  so  many  magpies."    As  a  parting  shot 

76 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

he  declared  on  leaving  the  kitchen,  "The  trouble  witH 
you  girls  is  that  you  ain't  got  no  class  spunk,  and  that's 
why,  in  sperrit,  you'll  never  be  nothink  but  menials." 

This  lack  of  esprit  de  corps  was  something  he 
couldn't  understand,  but  what  he  understood  less  was 
the  need  of  the  heart  to  touch  occasionally  the  high 
points  of  experience.  Mrs.  Courage  and  Jane,  to  say 
nothing  of  Nettie,  after  thirty  years  of  domestic 
routine  had  reached  the  place  where  something  in  the 
way  of  drama  had  become  imperative.  The  range 
and  the  pantry  produce  inhibitions  as  surely  as  the 
desk  or  the  drawing-room.  On  both  natures  inhibi- 
tions had  been  packed  like  feathers  on  a  seabird,  till 
the  soul  cried  out  to  be  released  from  some  of  them. 
It  might  mean  going  out  from  the  home  that  had 
sheltered  them  for  years,  and  breaking  with  all  their 
traditions,  but  now  that  the  chance  was  there,  neither 
could  refuse  it.  To  a  virtuous  woman,  starched  and 
stiffened  in  her  virtue,  steeped  in  it,  dyed  in  it,  per- 
meated by  it  through  and  through,  nothing  so  stirs 
the  dramatic,  so  quickens  the  imagination,  so  calls 
the  spirit  to  the  purple  emotional  heights,  as  contact 
with  the  sister  she  knows  to  be  a  hussy.  For  Jane 
Cakebread  and  Mary  Ann  Courage  the  opportunity 
was  unique. 

"Then  I'll  go.    I'll  go  straight  now." 

As  Steptoe  brought  the  information  that  the  three 
women  of  the  household  were  coming  to  announce 
the  resignation  of  their  posts,  Letty  sprang  to  her 
feet. 

"May  I  arsk  madam  to  sit  down  again  and  let  me 
expl)me  ?" 

n 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Taking  this  as  an  order,  she  sank  back  into  her 
chair  again.  He  stood  confronting  her  as  before,  one 
hand  resting  lightly  on  the  table. 

"Nothink  so  good  won't  *ave  'appened  in  this  'ouse 
since  old  Mrs.  Allerton  went  to  work  and  died." 

Letty's  eyes  shone  with  their  tiny  £»res,  not  in  pleas- 
ure but  in  wonder. 

"When  old  servants  is  good,  they're  good,  but  even 
when  they're  good,  there's  times  when  you  can't  'elp 
wishin'  as  'ow  the  Lord  'ud  be  pleased  to  tyke  them 
to  'Imself." 

He  allowed  this  to  sink  in  before  going  further. 

"The  men's  all  right,  for  the  most  part.  Indoor 
work  comes  natural  to  'em,  and  they'll  swing  it 
without  no  complynts.  But  with  the  women  it's 
kick,  kick,  kick,  and  when  they're  worn  their- 
selves  out  with  kickin',  they'll  begin  to  kick  again. 
What's  plye  for  a  man,  for  them  ain't  nothink  but 
slyvery." 

Letty  listened  as  one  receiving  revelations  from 
another  world. 

"I  ain't  what  they  call  a  woman- 'ater.  /  believe 
as  God  made  woman  for  a  purpose.  Only  I  can't 
bring  myself  to  think  as  the  human  race  'as  rightly 
found  out  yet  what  that  purpose  is.  God's  wyes  is 
always  dark,  and  when  it  comes  to  women,  they're 
darker  nor  they  are  elsewheres.  One  thing  I  do  know, 
and  we'll  be  a  lot  more  comfortable  when  more  of  us 
finds  it  out — that  God  never  made  women  for  the 
'ome." 

In  spite  of  her  awe  of  him,  Letty  found  this  doc- 
trine difficult  to  accept. 

78 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"If  God  didn't  make  'em  for  the  home,  mister, 
where  on  earth  would  you  put  'em?" 

The  wintry  color  came  out  again  on  the  old  man's 
cheeks.  "If  madam  would  call  me  Steptoe,"  he  said 
ceremoniously,  "I  think  she'd  find  it  easier.  I  mean," 
he  went  on,  reverting  to  the  original  theme,  "that  'E 
didn't  make  'em  to  be  cooks  and  'ousemaids  and  par- 
lormaids, and  all  that.  That's  men's  work.  Men'll 
do  it  as  easy  as  a  bird'll  sing.  I  never  see  the  woman 
yet  as  didn't  fret  'erself  over  it,  like  a  wild  animal'll 
fret  itself  in  a  circus  cage.  It  spiies  women  to  put 
'em  to  'ousework,  like  it  always  spiles  people  to  put 
*em  to  jobs  for  which  the  Lord  didn't  give  'em  no 
haptitude." 

Letty  was  puzzled,  but  followed  partially. 

"I've  watched  'em  and  watched  'em,  and  it's  always 
the  syme  tyle.  They'll  go  into  service  young  and 
joyous  like,  but  it  won't  be  two  or  three  years  before 
they'll  have  growed  cat-nasty  like  this  'ere  Jyne  Cyke- 
bread  and  Mary  Ann  Courage.  Madam  'ud  never 
believe  what  sweet  young  things  they  was  when  I 
first  picked  'em  out — Mrs.  Courage  a  young  widow, 
and  Jynie  as  nice  a  girl  as  madam  'ud  wish  to  see, 
only  with  the  features  what  Mrs.  Allerton  used  to  call 
a  little  hover-haccentuated.  And  now — !"  He 
allowed  the  conditions  to  speak  for  themselves  with- 
out criticizing  further. 

"It's  keepin'  'em  in  a  'ome  what's  done  it.  They 
knows  it  theirselves — and  yet  they  don't.  Inside 
they've  got  the  sperrits  of  young  colts  that  wants  to 
kick  up  their  'eels  in  the  pasture.  They  don't  mean  no 
worse  nor  that,  only  when  people  comes  to  Jynie's  age 

79 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

and  Mrs.  Courage's  they  'ave  to  kick  up  their  'eels 
in  their  own  wye.  If  madam'U  remember  that,  and 
be  pytient  with  them  like " 

Letty  cried  in  alarm,  "But  it's  got  nothin'  to  do  with 
me!" 

"If  madam'U  excuse  me,  it's  got  everything  to  do 
with  'er.    She's  the  missus  of  this  'ouse." 

"Oh,  no,  I  ain't.  Mr.  Allerton  just  brung  me 
here " 

Once  more  there  was  the  delicate  emphasis  with 
which  he  had  corrected  other  slips.  "Mr.  Allerton 
brought  madam,  and  told  me  to  see  that  she  was  put 
in  'er  proper  plyce.  If  madam'U  let  me  steer  the 
thing,  I'll  myke  it  as  easy  for  'er  as  easy." 

He  reflected  as  to  how  to  make  the  situation  clear 
to  her.  "I've  been  readin'  about  the  time  when  our 
l)d:e  Queen  Victoria  come  to  the  throne  as  quite  a 
young  girl.  She  didn't  know  nothin*  about  politics 
or  presidin'  at  councils  or  nothin'.  But  she  had 
a  prime  minister — a  kind  of  hupper  servant,  you 
might  sye — 'er  servant  was  what  'e  always  called 
'imself — ^and  whatever  'e  told  'er  to  do,  she  done. 
Walked  through  it  all,  you  might  sye,  till  she  got 
the  'ang  of  it,  but  once  she  did  get  the  'ang  of 
it — ^well,  there  wasn't  no  big-bug  in  the  world  that 
our  most  grycious  sovereign  lydy  couldn't  put  it  all 
hover  on." 

Once  more  he  allowed  her  time  to  assimilate  this 
parable. 

"Now  if  madam  would  only  think  of  'erself  as 
called  in  youth  to  reign  hover  this  'ouse " 

"Oh,  but  I  couldn't!" 

80 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"And  yet  it's  madam's  duty,  now  that  she's  married 
to  its  'ead " 

"Yes,  but  he  didn't  marry  me  like  that.  He  mar- 
ried me — all  queer  Hke.    This  was  the  way." 

She  poured  out  the  story,  while  Steptoe  listened 
quietly.  There  being  no  elements  in  it  of  the  kind 
he  called  "shydy,"  he  found  it  romantic.  No  one  had 
ever  suspected  the  longings  for  romance  which  had  filled 
his  heart  and  imagination  when  he  was  a  poor  little 
scullion  boy ;  but  the  memory  of  them,  with  some  of  the 
reality,  was  still  fresh  in  his  hidden  inner  self.  Now  it 
seemed  as  if  remotely  and  vicariously  romance  might 
be  coming  to  him  after  all,  through  the  boy  he  adored. 

On  her  tale  his  only  comment  was  to  say:  "I've 
been  readin' — I'm  a  great  reader,"  he  threw  in  paren- 
thetically, "wonderful  exercise  for  the  mind,  and 
learns  you  things  which  you  wouldn't  be  likely  to  'ear 
tell  of — ^but  I've  been  readin'  about  a  king — I'll  show 
you  'is  nyme  in  the  book — what  fell  in  love  with  a 
beggar  myde " 

"Oh,  but  Mr.  Allerton  didn't  fall  in  love  with  me." 

"That  remynes  to  be  seen." 

She  lifted  her  hands  in  awed  amazement.  "Mister 
— I  mean,  Steptoe — ^you — ^you  don't  think ?" 

The  subway  dream  of  love  at  first  sight  was  as 
tenacious  in  her  soul  as  the  craving  for  romance  in  his. 

He  nodded.  "I've  known  strynger  things  to 
*appen.'* 

"But — but — ^he  couldn't — "  it  was  beyond  her  power 
of  expression,  though  Steptoe  knew  what  she  meant — 
"not  him!" 

He  answered  judicially.  "  'E  may  come  to  it.  It'll 
8i 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

be  a  tough  job  to  bring  'im — ^but  if  madam'll  be 
guided  by  me " 

Letty  collapsed.  Her  spirit  grew  faint  as  the  spirit 
of  Christian  when  he  descried  far  off  the  walls  of  the 
Celestial  City,  with  the  Dark  River  rolling  between 
him  and  it.  Letty  knew  the  Dark  River  must  be  there, 
but  if  beyond  it  there  lay  the  slightest  chance  of  the 
Celestial  City.  .  .  . 

She  came  back  to  herself,  as  it  were,  on  hearing 
Steptoe  say  that  the  procession  from  the  kitchen 
would  presently  begin  to  form  itself. 

"Now  if  madam'll  be  guided  by  me  she'll  meet  this 
situytion  fyce  to  fyce." 

"Oh,  but  I'd  never  know  what  to  say." 

"Madam  won't  need  to  say  nothink.  She  won't  'ave 
to  speak.  'Ere  they'll  troop  in — "  a  gesture  described 
Mrs.  Courage  leading  the  advance  through  the  door- 
way—  "and  'ere  they'll  stand.  Madam'll  sit  just 
where  she's  sittin' — a  little  further  back  from  the  tyble 
— lookin*  over  the  mornin'  pyper  like — "  he  placed  the 
paper  in  her  hand — "and  as  heach  gives  notice, 
madam'll  just  bow  'er  'ead.    See  ?" 

Madam  saw,  but  not  exactly. 

"Now  if  she'll  just  move  'er  chair " 

The  chair  was  moved  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it 
seem  that  the  occupant,  having  finished  her  break- 
fast, was  giving  herself  a  little  more  space. 

"And  if  madam  would  remove  'er  'at  and  jacket, 
she'd — she'd  seem  more  like  the  lydy  of  the  'ouse  at 
ome. 

Letty  took  off  these  articles  of  apparel,  which  Step- 
toe  whisked  out  of  sight. 

82 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Now  I'll  be  Mrs.  Courage  comin'  to  sye,  'Madam, 
I  wish  to  give  notice.*  Madam'll  lower  the  pyper 
just  enough  to  show  'er  inclinin'  of  'er  'ead,  assentin* 
to  Mrs.  Courage  leavin'  'er.  Mrs.  Courage  will  be  all 
for  'avin'  words — she's  a  great  'and  for  words,  Mrs. 
Courage  is — ^but  if  madam  won't  sye  nothin'  at  all, 
the  wind'll  be  out  o'  Mrs.  Courage's  syles  like.  Now, 
will  madam  be  so  good ?" 

Having  passed  out  into  the  hall,  he  entered  with 
Mrs.  Courage's  majestic  gait,  pausing  some  three  feet 
from  the  table  to  say : 

"Madam,  things  bein'  as  they  are,  and  me  not 
wishin'  to  stye  no  longer  in  the  'ouse  where  I've  served 
so  many  years,  I  beg  to  give  notice  that  I'm  a  givin' 
of  notice  and  mean  to  quit  right  off." 

Letty  lowered  the  paper  from  before  her  eyes,  jerk- 
ing her  head  briskly. 

"Ye-es,"  Steptoe  commended  doubtfully,  "a  lettle 
too — well,  too  habrupt,  as  you  might  sye.  Most  lydies 
— real  'igh  lydies,  like  the  lyte  Mrs.  Allerton — inclines 
their  'ead  slow  and  gryceful  like.  First,  they  throws 
it  back  a  bit,  so  as  to  get  a  purchase  on  it,  and  then 
they  brings  it  forward  calm  like,  lowerin'  it  stytely — 
Perhaps  if  madam'ud  be  me  for  a  bit — ^that  'ud  be 
Mrs.  Courage — and  let  me  sit  there  and  be  'er,  I 
could  show  'er " 

The  places  were  reversed.  It  was  Letty  who  came 
in  as  Mrs.  Courage,  while  Steptoe,  seated  in  the 
chair,  lowered  the  paper  to  the  degree  which  he 
thought  dignified.  Letty  mumbled  something  like  the 
words  the  hypothetical  Mrs.  Courage  was  presumed 
to  use,  while  Steptoe  slowly  threw  back  his  head  for 

83 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

the  purchase,  bringing  it  forward  in  condescending 
grace.  Language  could  not  have  given  Mrs.  Courage 
so  effective  a  retort  courteous. 

Letty  was  enchanted.  "Oh,  Steptoe,  let  me  have 
another  try.    I  believe  I  could  swing  the  cat." 

Again  the  places  were  reversed.  Steptoe  having  re- 
peated the  role  of  Mrs.  Courage,  Letty  imitated  him 
as  best  she  could  in  getting  the  purchase  for  her  bow 
and  catching  his  air  of  high-bred  condescension, 

"Better,"  he  approved,  "if  madam  wouldn't  lower 
*er  'ead  quite  so  far  back'ard.  You  see,  madam,  a 
lydy  don't  know  she's  throwin'  back  'er  'ead  so  as  to 
get  a  grip  on  it.  She  does  it  unconscious  like,  be- 
cause bein'  of  a  'aughty  sperrit  she  'olds  it  'igh  natural. 
If  madam'll  only  stiffen  'er  neck  like,  as  if  sperrit  'ad 
made  'er  about  two  inches  taller  than  she  is " 

Having  seized  this  idea,  Letty  tried  again,  with 
such  success  that  Mrs.  Courage  was  disposed  of. 
Jane  Cakebread  followed  next,  with  Nettie  last  of  all. 
Unaware  of  his  possession  of  histrionic  ability,  Steptoe 
gave  to  each  character  its  outstanding  traits,  fluttering 
like  Jane,  and  giggling  like  Nettie,  not  in  zeal  for  a 
newly  discovered  interpretative  art,  but  in  order  that 
Letty  might  be  nowhere  caught  at  a  disadvantage. 
He  was  delighted  with  her  quickness  in  imitation. 

"Couldn't  'ave  done  that  better  myself,"  he  declared 
after  Nettie  had  been  dismissed  for  the  third  or  fourth 
time.  "When  it  comes  to  the  inclinin'  of  the  'ead  I 
should  sye  as  madam  was  about  letter-perfect,  as 
they  sye  on  the  styge.  If  Mr.  Rash  was  to  see  it, 
'e'd  swear  as  'is  ma  'ad  come  back  again." 

A  muffled  sound  proceeded  from  the  back  part  of 
84 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

the  hallway,  with  some  whispering  and  once  or  twice 
Nettie's  stifled  cackle  of  a  laugh, 

*'  'Ere  they  are,"  he  warned  her.  "Madam  must  be 
firm  and  control  'erself.  There's  nothink  for  'er  to 
be  afryde  of.  Just  let  'er  think  of  the  lyte  Queen 
Victoria,  called  to  the  throne  when  younger  even  than 
madam  is " 

A  shuffling  developed  into  one  lone  step,  heavy, 
stately,  and  funereal.  Doing  her  best  to  emulate  the 
historic  example  held  up  to  her,  Letty  lengthened  her 
neck  and  stiffened  it.  A  haughty  spirit  seemed  to 
rise  in  her  by  the  mere  process  of  the  elongation.  She 
was  so  nervous  that  the  paper  shook  in  her  hand,  but 
she  knew  that  if  the  Celestial  City  was  to  be  won,  she 
could  shrink  from  no  tests  which  might  lead  her  on  to 
victory. 

Steptoe  had  relapsed  into  the  major-domo's  office, 
announcing  from  the  doorway,  "Mrs.  Courage  to  see 
madam,  if  madam  will  be  pleased  to  receive  'er." 

Madam  indicated  that  she  was  so  pleased,  scram- 
bling after  the  standard  of  the  maiden  sovereign  of 
Windsor  Castle  giving  audience  to  princes  and 
ambassadors, 


Chapter  VIII 


T 


Letty  couldn't  know,  of  course,  that  this  an- 
nouncement, made  in  a  menacing  female  bass,  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  three  swaying  bodies  had  been 
endeavoring  so  to  get  round  the  deployed  paper  wings 
as  to  see  what  was  hidden  there,  and  had  found  their 
efforts  vain.  All  she  could  recognize  was  the  sum- 
mons to  the  bar  of  social  judgment.  To  the  bar  of 
social  judgment  she  would  have  gone  obediently,  had 
it  not  been  for  that  rebelliousness  against  being 
"looked  down  upon"  which  had  lately  mastered  her. 
As  it  was,  she  lengthened  her  neck  by  another  half 
inch,  receiving  from  the  exercise  a  new  degree  of 
sel  f -strengthening. 

"Mrs.  Courage  is  'ere,  madam,"  Steptoe  seconded, 
"and  begs  to  sye  as  she's  givin'  notice  to  quit  madam's 
service " 

The  explosion  came  as  if  Mrs.  Courage  was 
strangling. 

"When  I  wants  words  took  out  of  my  mouth  by 
'Enery  Steptoe  or  anybody  else  I'll  sye  so.  If  them 
as  I've  come  into  this  room  to  speak  to  don't  feel 
theirselves  aible  to  fyce  me " 

"Madam'll  excuse  an  old  servant  who's  outlived  'er 
time,"  Steptoe  intervened,  "and  not  tyke  no  notice. 
They  always  abuses  the  kindness  that's  been  showed 

'em,  and  tykes  liberties  which " 

86 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

But  not  for  nothing  had  Mrs.  Courage  been  born 
to  the  grand  manner. 

**When  'Enery  Steptoe  talks  of  old  servants  out- 
livin'  their  time  and  tykin'  liberties  'e  speaks  of  what 
'e  knows  all  about  from  personal  experience.  'E  was 
an  old  man  when  I  was  a  little  thing  not  so  high." 

The  appeal  was  to  the  curiosity  of  the  girl  behind 
the  screen.  To  judge  of  how  high  Mrs.  Courage 
had  not  been  at  a  time  when  Steptoe  was  already 
an  old  man  she  might  be  enticed  from  her  fortifica- 
tions. But  the  pause  only  offered  Steptoe  a  new 
opportunity. 

"And  so,  if  madam  can  dispense  with  'er  services, 
which  I  understand  madam  can,  Mrs.  Courage  will  be 
a-leavin'  of  us  this  morning,  with  all  our  good  wishes, 
I'm  sure.  Good-dye  to  you,  Mary  Ann,  and  God  bless 
you  after  all  the  years  you've  been  with  us.  Madam's 
givin'  you  your  dismissal." 

Obedient  to  her  cue  Letty  lowered  her  guard  just 
enough  to  incline  her  head  with  the  grace  Steptoe  had 
already  pronounced  "letter  perfect."  The  shock  to 
Mrs.  Courage  can  best  be  narrated  in  her  own  terms 
to  Mrs.  Walter  Wildgoose  later  in  the  day. 

"Airs!  No  one  couldn't  imagine  it,  Bessie,  what 
'adn't  seen  it  for  theirselves — what  them  baggages'!! 
do — smokin' — and  wearin'  pearl  necklaces — and  'avin' 
their  own  limousines — all  that  I've  seen  and  'ad  got 
used  to — but  not  the  President's  wife — not  Mary 
Queen  of  England — could  'a  myde  you  feel  as  if  you 
was  dirt  hunder  their  feet  like  what  this  one — ^and  'er 
with  one  of  them  marked  down  sixty-nine  cent 
blouses  that  'adn't  seen  the  wash  since — ^and  as  for 

87 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

looks — ^why,  she  didn't  'ave  a  look  to  bless  'erself — 
and  a-'oldin'  of  'erself  like  what  a  empress  might — 
and  bowin'  'er  'ead,  and  goin'  back  to  'er  pyper,  as  if 
I'd  disturbed  'er  at  'er  readin' — and  the  dead  and 
spitten  image  of  'Enery  Steptoe  'imself  she  is — and 
you  know  'ow  many  times  we've  all  wondered  as  to 
why  'e  didn't  marry — and  'im  with  syvings  put  by — 
Jynie  thinks  as  'e's  worth  as  much  as — and  you  know 
what  a  'and  Jynie  is  for  ferritin'  out  what's  none  of 
'er  business — why,  if  Jynie  Cykebread  could  'a  myde 
'erself  Jynie  Steptoe — but  that's  somethink  wild 
'orses  wouldn't  myke  poor  Jynie  see — that  no  man 
wouldn't  look  at  'er  the  second  time  if  it  wasn't  for 
to  laugh — pitiful,  I  call  it,  at  'er  aige — and  me 
always  givin'  the  old  rip  to  know  as  it  was  no  use  'is 
'angin'  round  where  I  was — as  if  I'd  marry  agyne, 
and  me  a  widda,  as  you  might  sye,  from  my  crydle — 
and  if  I  did,  it  wouldn't  'a  been  a  wicked  old  varlet 
what  I  always  suspected  'e  was  leadin'  a  double  life — 
and  now  to  see  them  two  fyces  together — why,  I 
says,  'ere's  the  explanytion  as  plyne  as  plyne  can  make 
it.  .  .  ." 

All  of  which  might  have  been  true  in  rhetoric,  but 
not  in  fact.  For  what  had  really  given  Mrs.  Courage 
the  coup  de  grace  we  must  go  back  to  the  scene  of 
the  morning. 

Ignoring  both  Letty's  inclination  of  the  head  and 
Steptoe's  benediction  she  had  shown  herself  hurt 
where  she  was  tenderest. 

"Now  that  there's  no  one  to  ryse  their  voice  agynst 
the  disgryce  brought  on  this  family  but  me " 

"Speak  right  up,  Jynie.  Don't  be  afryde.  Madam 
88 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

won't  eat  you.    She  knows  that  you've  come  to  give 
notice " 

Mrs.  Courage  struggled  on.  "No  one  ain't  goin* 
to  bow  me  out  of  the  'ouse  I've  been  cook-'ousekeeper 
in  these  twenty-seven  year " 

"Sorry  as  madam'll  be  to  lose  you,  Jynie,  she  won't 
stand  in  the  wye  of  your  gettin'  a  better  plyce " 

Mrs.  Courage's  roar  being  that  of  the  wounded 
lioness  she  was,  the  paper  shook  till  it  rattled  in 
Letty's  hand. 

"I  ii>ill  be  listened  to.  I've  a  right  to  be  'card.  My 
'eart's  been  as  much  in  this  'ouse  and  family  as 
'Enery  Steptoe's  'eart ;  and  to  see  shyme  and  ruin  come 
upon  it " 

Steptoe's  interruption  was  in  a  tone  of  pleased 
surprise. 

"Why,  you  still  'ere,  Mary  Ann?  We  thought 
you'd  tyken  leave  of  us.  Madam  didn't  know  you 
was  speakin'.  She  won't  detyne  you,  madam  won't. 
You  and  Jynie  and  Nettie'll  all  find  cheques  for  your 
wyges  pyde  up  to  a  month  a  'ead,  as  I  know  Mr. 
Rashleigh'd  want  me  to  do.  .  .  ." 

Shame  and  ruin!  Letty  couldn't  follow  the  fur- 
ther unfoldings  of  Steptoe's  diplomacy  because  of 
these  two  words.  They  summed  up  what  she  brought 
— what  she  had  been  married  to  bring — ^to  a  house 
of  which  even  she  could  see  the  traditions  were  of 
honor.  Vaguely  aware  of  voices  which  she  attributed 
to  Jane  and  Nettie,  her  spirit  was  in  revolt  against 
the  role  for  which  her  rashness  of  yesterday  had  let 
her  in,  and  which  Steptoe  was  forcing  upon  her. 

Jane  was  still  whimpering  and  sniffling : 
99 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"I'm  sure  I  never  dreamed  that  things  would  'appen 
like  what  'as  'appened — ^and  us  all  one  family,  as  you 
might  sye — 'opin'  the  best  of  everyone " 

"Jynie,  stop,"  Mrs.  Courage's  voice  had  become 
low  and  firm,  with  emotion  in  its  tone,  making 
Letty  catch  her  breath.  "My  'eart's  breakin', 
and  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  let  it  break  without  mykin* 
them  that's  broken  it  know  what  they've  done 
to  me." 

"Now,  Mary  Ann,"  Steptoe  tried  to  say,  peaceably, 
"madam's  grytely  pressed  for  time " 

"  'Enery  Steptoe,  do  you  suppose  that  you're  the 
only  one  in  the  world  as  'as  loved  that  boy?  Ain't 
'e  my  boy  just  as  much  as  ever  'e  was  yours?" 

"  'E's  boy  to  them  as  stands  by  'im,  Mrs.  Courage 
— and  stands  by  them  that  belongs  to  'im.  The  first 
thing  you  do  is  to  quit " 

"I'm  not  quittin';  I'm  druv  out.  I'm  druv  out  at 
a  hour's  notice  from  the  'ome  I've  slyved  for  all  my 
best  years,  leavin'  dishonor  and  wickedness  in  my 
plyce " 

Letty  could  endure  no  more.  Dashing  to  the  floor 
the  paper  behind  which  she  crouched  she  sprang  to 
her  feet. 

"Is  that  me?"  she  demanded. 

The  surprise  of  the  attack  caught  Mrs.  Courage  off 
her  guard.  She  could  only  open  her  mouth,  and  close 
it  again,  soundlessly  and  helplessly.  Jane  stared,  her 
curiosity  gratified  at  last.  Nettie  turned  to  whisper 
to  Jane,  "There;  what  did  I  tell  you?  The  com- 
monest thing !"  Steptoe  nodded  his  head  quietly.  In 
this  little  creature  with  her  sudden  flame,  eyes  all  fire 

90 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

and  cheeks  of  the  wine-colored  damask  rose,  he  seemed 
to  find  a  corroboration  of  his  power  of  divining 
character. 

It  seemed  long  before  Mrs.  Courage  had  found  the 
strength  to  live  up  to  her  convictions,  by  faintly  mur- 
muring :    "Who  else  ?" 

"Then  tell  me  what  you  accuse  me  of?" 

Mrs.  Courage  saw  her  advantage.  "We  ain't  'ere 
to  accuse  nobody  of  nothink.  If  it's  'intin'  that  I'd  tyke 
awye  anyone's  character  it's  a  thing  I've  'ardly  ever 
done,  and  no  one  can  sye  it  of  me.  All  we  want  is  to 
give  our  notice " 

"Then  why  don't  you  do  it — and  go?" 

Once  more  Steptoe  intervened,  diplomatically. 
"That's  what  Mrs.  Courage  is  a-doin*  of,  madam. 
She's  finished,  ain't  you  Mary  Ann?  Jynie  and 
Nettie  is  finished  too " 

But  it  was  Letty  now  who  refused  this  mediation. 

"No,  they  ain't  finished.    Let  'em  go  on." 

But  no  one  did  go  on.  Mrs.  Courage  was  now 
dumb.  She  was  dumb  and  frightened,  falling  back 
on  her  two  supporters.  All  three  together  they  hud- 
dled between  the  portieres.  If  Steptoe  could  have 
calmed  his  protegee  he  would  have  done  it;  but  she 
was  beyond  his  control. 

"Am  I  the  ruin  and  shame  to  this  house  that  you 
was  talkin'  about  just  now?  If  I  am,  why  don't  you 
speak  out  and  put  it  to  me  plain?" 

There  was  no  response.  The  spectators  looked  on 
as  if  they  were  at  the  theater. 

"What  have  you  all  got  against  me  anyhow?"  Letty 
insisted,  passionately.  "What  did  I  ever  do  to  you? 
7  91 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

What's  women's  hearts  made  of,  that  they  can't  let  a 
poor  girl  be?" 

Mrs.  Courage  had  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able 
to  turn  from  one  to  another,  to  say  in  pantomime  that 
she  had  been  misunderstood.  Jane  began  to  cry; 
Nettie  to  laugh. 

"Even  if  I  was  the  bad  girl  you're  tryin'  to  make 
me  out  I  should  think  other  women  might  show  me  a 
little  pity.  But  I'm  not  a  bad  girl — not  yet.  I  may 
be.  I  dunno  but  what  I  will.  When  I  see  the  hateful 
thing  bein'  good  makes  of  women  it  drives  me  to  do 
the  other  thing." 

This  was  the  speech  they  needed  to  justify 
themselves.  To  be  good  made  women  hateful! 
Their  dumb-crambo  to  each  other  showed  that 
anyone  who  said  so  wild  a  thing  stood  already  self- 
condemned. 

But  Letty  flung  up  her  head  with  a  mettle  which 
Steptoe  hadn't  seen  since  the  days  of  the  late  Mrs. 
AUerton. 

"I'm  not  in  this  house  to  drive  no  one  else  out  of 
it.  Them  that  have  lived  here  for  years  has  a  right 
to  it  which  I  ain't  got.  You  can  go,  and  let  me 
stay;  or  you  can  stay,  and  let  me  go.  I'm  the  wife  of 
the  owner  of  this  house,  who  married  me  straight 
and  legal ;  but  I  don't  care  anything  about  that.  You 
don't  have  to  tell  me  I  ain't  fit  to  be  his  wife,  because 
I  know  it  as  well  as  you  do.  All  I'm  sayin'  is  that 
you've  got  the  choice  to  stay  or  go;  and  whichever 
you  do,  I'll  do  different." 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  spoken  so  many  words 
at  one  time.    The  effort  drained  her.    With  a  torrent 

92 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

of  dry  sobs  that  racked  her  body  she  dropped  back 
into  her  chair. 

The  hush  was  that  of  people  who  find  the  tables 
turned  on  themselves  in  a  way  they  consider  unwar- 
ranted. Of  the  general  surprise  Steptoe  was  quick 
to  take  advantage. 

"There  you  are,  girls.  Madam  couldn't  speak  no 
fairer,  now  could  she  ?" 

To  this  there  was  neither  assent  or  dissent;  but  it 
was  plain  that  no  one  was  ready  to  pick  up  the  glove 
so  daringly  thrown  down. 

"Now  what  I  would  suggest,"  Steptoe  went  on, 
craftily,  "is  that  we  all  go  back  to  the  kitchen  and  talk 
it  over  quiet  like.  What  we  decide  to  do  we  can  tell 
madam  lyter." 

For  consent  or  refusal  Jane  and  Nettie  looked  to 
Mary  Ann,  whose  attitude  was  that  of  rejecting  par- 
ley. She  might,  indeed,  have  rejected  it,  had  not 
Letty,  bowing  her  head  on  the  arms  she  rested  on  the 
table,  begun  to  cry  bitterly. 

It  was  then  that  you  saw  Mrs.  Courage  at  her  best. 
The  gesture  with  which  she  swept  her  subordinates 
back  into  the  hall  was  that  of  the  supremacy  of  will. 

"It  shan't  be  said  as  I  crush,"  she  declared,  nobly, 
directing  Steptoe's  attention  to  the  weeping  girl. 
"Where  there's  penitence  I  pity.  God  grant  as  them 
tears  may  gush  out  of  an  aichin'  'eart." 


Chapter  IX 

BY  the  time  Letty  was  drying  her  eyes,  her  heart 
somewhat  eased,  Steptoe  had  come  back.  He 
came  back  with  a  smile.  Something  had  evidently 
pleased  him. 

"So  that's  all  over.  Madam  won't  be  bothered 
with  other  people's  cat-nasty  old  servants  after 
to-dye." 

She  felt  a  new  access  of  alarm.  "But  they're  not 
goin'  away  on  account  o'  me?  Don't  let  'em  do  it. 
Lemme  go  instead.  Oh,  mister,  I  can't  stay  here, 
where  everything's  so  different  from  what  I'm  used  to." 

He  still  smiled,  his  gentle  old  man's  smile  which 
somehow  gave  her  confidence. 

"Madam  won't  sye  that  after  a  dye  or  two.  It's 
new  to  'er  yet,  of  course;  but  if  she'll  always  remem- 
ber that  I'm  'ere,  to  myke  everythink  as  easy  as 
easy " 

"But  what  are  you  goin'  to  do,  with  no  cook,  and 
no  chambermaid ?" 

Standing  with  the  corner  of  the  table  between  him 
and  her,  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "If  Mr.  Rash 
could  only  see  'er  lookin'  up  like  this — with  'er  eyes 
all  starry — and  her  cheeks  with  them  dark-red  roses — 
red  roses  like  you'd  rubbed  with  a  little  black.  .  .  ." 
But  he  suspended  the  romantic  longing  to  say,  aloud : 

"If  madam  will  permit  me  I'll  tyke  my  measures  as 
I've  wanted  to  tyke  'em  this  long  spell  back." 

94 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Madam  was  not  to  worry  as  to  the  three  women 
who  were  leaving  the  house,  inasmuch  as  they  had 
long  been  intending  to  leave  it.  Both  Mrs.  Courage 
and  Jane,  having  graduated  to  the  stage  of  "accommo- 
dating," were  planning  to  earn  more  money  by  easier 
work.  Nettie,  since  coming  to  America,  had  learned 
that  housework  was  menial,  and  was  going  to  be  a 
milliner. 

Madam's  remorse  being  thus  allayed  he  told  what 
he  hoped  to  do  for  madam's  comfort.  There  would 
be  no  more  women  in  the  house,  not  till  madam  her- 
self brought  them  back.  An  English  chef  who  had 
lost  an  eye  in  the  war,  and  an  English  waiter,  ready 
to  do  chamberwork,  who  had  left  a  foot  on  some 
battlefield,  were  prepared  under  Steptoe's  direction  to 
man  the  house.  No  woman  whose  household  cares 
had  not  been  eased  by  men,  in  the  European  fashion, 
knew  what  it  was  to  live.  A  woman  waited  on  by 
women  only  was  kept  in  a  state  of  nerves.  Nerves 
were  infectious.  When  one  woman  in  a  household 
got  them  the  rest  were  sooner  or  later  their  prey. 
Unless  strongly  preventative  measures  were  adopted 
they  spread  at  times  to  the  men.  America  was  a  dread- 
ful country  for  nerves  and  it  mostly  came  of  women 
working  with  women ;  whereas,  according  to  Steptoe's 
psychology,  men  should  work  with  women  and  women 
with  men.  There  were  thousands  of  women  who 
were  bitter  in  heart  at  cooking  and  making  beds 
who  would  be  happy  as  linnets  in  offices  and  shops; 
and  thousands  of  men  who  were  dying  of  boredom 
in  offices  and  shops  who  would  be  in  their  element 
cooking  and  making  beds. 

95 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"One  of  the  things  the  American  people  'as  got 
back'ards,  if  madam'U  allow  me  to  sye  so,  is  that 
'ouse'old  work  is  not  fit  for  a  white  man.  When  you 
come  to  that  the  American  people  ain't  got  a  sense  of 
the  dignity  of  their  'omes.  They  can't  see  their  'omes 
as  run  by  anything  but  slyves.  All  that's  outside  the 
dinin'  room  and  the  drorin'  room  and  the  masters* 
bedrooms  the  American  sees  as  if  it  was  a  low-down 
thing,  even  when  it's  hunder  'is  own  roof.  Colored 
men,  yellow  men,  may  cook  'is  meals  and  myke  'is 
bed;  but  a  white  man'd  demean  'imself.  A  poor  old 
white  man  like  me  when  'e's  no  longer  fit  for  'ard 
outdoor  work  ain't  allowed  to  do  nothink;  when  all 
the  time  there's  women  workin'  their  fingers  to  the 
bone  that  'e  could  be  a  great  'elp  to,  and  who  'e'd 
like  to  go  to  their  'elp." 

This  was  one  reason,  he  argued,  why  the  question 
of  domestic  aid  in  America  was  all  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
It  was  not  considered  humanly.  It  was  more  than  a 
question  of  supply  and  demand;  it  was  one  of 
national  prejudice.  A  rich  man  could  have  a  French 
chef  and  an  English  butler,  and  as  many  strapping 
indoor  men — some  of  them  much  better  fitted  for 
manual  labor — as  he  liked,  and  find  it  a  social  glory; 
while  a  family  of  moderate  means  were  obliged  to  pay 
high  wages  to  crude  incompetent  women  from  the 
darkest  backwaters  of  European  life,  just  because  they 
were  women. 

"And  the  women's  mostly  to  blyme,"  he  reasoned. 
"They  suffers — nobody  knows  what  they  suffers 
better  nor  me — just  because  they  ain't  got  the  spimk 
to  do  anything  but  suffer.    They've  got  it  all  in  their 

96 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

own  'ands,  and  they  never  learn.  Men  is  slow  to 
learn ;  but  women  don't  'ardly  ever  learn  at  all." 

Letty  was  thinking  of  herself,  as  she  glanced  up  at 
this  fount  of  wisdom  with  the  question : 

"Don't  none  of  'em?" 

Having  apparently  weighed  this  already  he  had  his 
answer.  "None  that's  been  drilled  a  little  bit  before 
'and.  Once  let  woman  feel  as  so  and  so  is  the  custom, 
and  for  'er  that  custom,  whether  good  or  bad,  is  there 
to  stye.  They  sye  that  chyngin'  'er  mind  is  a  woman's 
privilege ;  but  the  woman  that  chynged  'er  mind  about 
a  custom  is  one  I  never  met  yet." 

She  took  him  as  seriously  as  he  took  himself. 

"Don't  you  like  women,  mister — I  mean,  Steptoe?" 

He  pondered  before  replying.  "I  don't  know  as  I 
could  sye.  I've  never  'ad  a  chance  to  see  much  of 
women  except  in  'ousework,  where  they're  out  of 
their  element  and  tyken  at  a  disadvantage.  I  don't 
like  none  I've  ever  run  into  there,  because  none  of 
'em  never  was  no  sport." 

The  inquiry  in  her  golden  eyes  led  him  a  little 
further. 

"No  one  ain't  a  sport  what  sighs  and  groans  over 
their  job,  and  don't  do  it  cheerful  like.  No  one  ain't 
a  sport  what  undertykes  a  job  and  ain't  proud  of  it. 
If  a  woman  will  go  into  'ousework  let  'er  do  it  honor- 
able. If  she  chooses  to  be  a  servant  let  'er  be  a  serv- 
ant, and  not  be  ashymed  to  sye  she  is  one.  So  if 
madam  arsks  me  if  I  like  'em  I  'ave  to  confess  I 
don't,  because  as  far  as  I  see  women  I  mostly  'ear  'em 
complyne." 

Her  admiration  was  quite  sincere  as  she  said :  "I 
97 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

shouldn't  think  they'd  complain  if  they  had  you  to 
put  'em  wise." 

He  corrected  gently.    "If  they  'ad  me  to  tell  'em." 

"If  they  'ad  you  to  tell  'em,"  she  imitated,  meekly. 

"Madam  mustn't  pick  up  the  bad  'abit  of  droppin' 
*er  haitches,"  he  warned,  parentally.  "I'll  learn  'er  a 
lot,  but  that's  one  thing  I  mustn't  learn  'er.  I  don't  do 
it  often — Oh,  once  in  a  wye,  mybe — ^but  that's  some- 
thing madam  speaks  right  already — just  like  all  Amer- 
icans." 

Delighted  that  there  was  one  thing  about  her  that 
was  right  already  she  reminded  him  of  what  he  had 
said,  that  women  never  learned. 

"I  said  women  as  'ad  been  drilled  a  bit.  But  ma- 
dam's different.  Madam  comes  into  this  'ouse  new- 
born, as  you  might  sye ;  and  that'll  myke  it  easier  for 
'er  and  me." 

"You  mean  that  I'll  not  be  a  kicker." 

Once  more  he  smiled  his  gentle  reproof.  "Oh, 
madam  wouldn't  be  a  kicker  any'ow.  Jynie  or  Nettie 
or  Mary  Ann  Courage  or  even  me — we  might  be 
kickers;  but  if  madam  was  to  hobject  to  anything 
she'd  be — displeased." 

She  knitted  her  brows.  The  distinction  was  diffi- 
cult.   He  saw  he  had  better  explain  more  fully. 

"It's  only  the  common  crowd  what  kicks.  It's  only 
the  common  crowd  what  uses  the  expression.  A  man 
might  use  it — I  mean  a  real  'igh  gentleman  like  Mr. 
Rashleigh — and  get  awye  with  it — now  and  then — if 
'e  didn't  myke  a  'abit  of  it ;  but  when  a  woman  does 
it  she  rubberstamps  'erself.  Now,  does  madam  see? 
A  lydy  couldn't  be  a  lydy — and  kick.    The  lyte  Mrs. 

98 


I  THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Allerton  would  never  demean  'erself  to  kick;  she'd 
only  show  displeasure." 

With  a  thumb  and  two  fingers  Letty  marked  off  on 
the  table  the  three  points  as  to  which  she  had  received 
information  that  morning.  She  must  say  brought, 
and  not  brung;  she  must  say  tell,  and  not  put  wise; 
she  must  not  kick,  but  show  displeasure.  Neither 
must  she  drop  her  aitches,  though  to  do  so  would  have 
been  an  effort.  The  warning  only  raised  a  suspicion 
that  in  the  matter  of  speech  there  might  be  a  higher 
standard  than  Steptoe's.  If  ever  she  heard  Rashleigh 
Allerton  speak  again  she  resolved  to  listen  to  him 
attentively. 

She  came  back  from  her  reverie  on  hearing  Steptoe 
say: 

"With  madam  it's  a  cyse  of  beginning  from  the 
ground  up,  more  or  less  as  you  would  with  a  byby ;  so 
I  'ope  madam'll  forgive  me  if  I  drop  a  'int  as  to  what 
we  must  do  before  goin'  any  farther." 

Once  more  he  read  her  question  in  the  starry  little 
flames  in  her  eyes. 

"It's— clothes." 

The  damask  red  which  had  ebbed  surged  slowly 
back  again.  It  surged  back  under  the  transparent 
white  skin,  as  red  wine  fills  a  glass.  Her  lips  parted 
to  stammer  the  confession  that  she  had  no  clothes 
except  those  she  wore;  but  she  couldn't  utter  a  syl- 
lable. 

"I  understand  madam's  position,  which  is  why  I 
mention  it.  You  might  sye  as  clothes  is  the  ABC 
of  social  life,  and  if  we're  to  work  from  the  ground 
up  we  must  begin  there." 

99 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

She  forced  it  out  at  last,  but  the  statement  seemed 

to  tear  her. 

"I  can't  get  clothes.    I  ain't  got  no  money." 

"Oh,  money's  no  hobject,"  he  smiled.    "Mr.  Rash 

'as  plenty  of  that,  and  I  know  what  'e'd  like  me  to  do. 

There  never  was  'is  hequal  for  the  'open  'and.     If 

madam'll  leave  it  to  me  .  .  ." 

Allerton's  office  was  much  what  you  would  have 
expected  it  to  be,  bearing  to  other  offices  the  same 
relation  as  he  to  other  business  men.  He  had  it  because 
not  to  have  it  wouldn't  have  been  respectable.  A  young 
American  who  didn't  go  to  an  office  every  day  would 
hardly  have  been  a  young  American.  An  office,  then, 
was  a  concession  to  public  sentiment,  as  well  as  some 
faint  justification  of  himself. 

It  was  in  the  latter  sense  that  he  chiefly  took  it, 
making  it  a  subject  of  frequent  reference.  In  his 
conversation  such  expressions  as  "my  office,"  or  "due 
at  my  office,"  were  introduced  more  often  than 
there  was  occasion  for.  The  implication  that  he 
had  work  to  do  gave  him  status,  enabling  him  to 
sit  down  among  his  cronies  and  good-naturedly  take 
their  fun. 

He  took  a  good  deal  of  fun,  never  having  succeeded 
in  making  himself  the  standardized  type  who  escapes 
the  shafts  of  ridicule.  It  was  kindly  fun,  which,  while 
viewing  him  as  a  white  swan  in  a  flock  of  black  ones, 
recognized  him  as  a  swan,  and  this  was  as  much  as  he 
could  expect.  To  pass  in  the  crowd  was  all  he  asked 
for,  even  when  he  only  passed  on  bluff.  If  he  couldn't 
wholly  hide  the  bluff  he  could  keep  it  from  being 

IOC 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

flagrantly  obtrusive;  and  toward  that  end  an  office 
was  a  help. 

It  was  an  office  situated  just  where  you  would 
have  expected  to  find  it — far  enough  downtown  to 
be  downtown,  and  yet  not  so  far  downtown  as  to 
make  it  a  trouble  to  get  there.  Being  on  the  east- 
ern side  of  Washington  Square,  it  had  a  picturesque 
outlook,  and  the  merit  of  access  from  East  Sixty- 
seventh  Street  through  the  long  straight  artery  of 
Fifth  Avenue. 

It  was  furnished,  too,  just  as  you  might  have  known 
he  would  furnish  it,  in  the  rich  and  sober  Style  Em- 
pire, and  yet  not  so  exclusively  in  the  Style  Empire 
as  to  make  the  plain  American  business  man  fear  he 
had  dropped  into  Napoleon's  library  at  Malmaison. 
That  is  what  Rashleigh  would  have  liked,  but  other 
men  could  do  what  in  him  would  be  thought  finicky. 
To  take  the  "cuss"  off  his  refinement,  as  he  put  it  to 
Barbara,  he  scattered  modern  American  office  bits 
among  his  luscious  brown  surfaces,  adorned  with 
wreaths  and  lictors'  sheaves  in  gold,  though  to  him- 
self the  wrong  note  was  offensive. 

But  wrong  notes  and  right  notes  were  the  same  to 
him  as,  on  this  particular  morning,  he  dragged  him- 
self there  because  it  was  the  hour.  His  office  staff  in 
the  person  of  old  Mr.  Radbury  was  already  on  the 
spot,  and  had  sorted  the  letters  for  the  day.  These 
were  easily  dealt  with.  Reinvestment,  or  new  oppor- 
timities  for  investment,  were  their  principal  themes, 
and  the  only  positive  duty  to  attend  to  was  in  the 
endorsement  of  dividend  checks  for  deposit.  A  few 
directions  being  given  to  Mr.  Radbury  as  to  such  let- 

lOI 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

ters  as  were  to  be  answered,  Allerton  had  nothing 
to  do  but  stroll  to  the  window  and  look  out. 

It  was  what  he  did  perhaps  fifty  times  in  the  course 
of  the  two  or  three  hours  daily,  or  approximately 
daily,  which  he  spent  there.  He  did  so  now.  He  did 
so  because  it  put  off  for  a  few  minutes  longer  the 
fierce,  exasperating,  acrid  pleasure  of  doing  worse. 
To  do  worse  had  been  his  avowed  object  in  coming 
to  the  office  that  morning,  and  not  the  answering  of 
letters  or  the  raking  in  of  checks. 

Looking  down  from  his  window  on  the  tenth  floor 
he  asked  himself  the  fruitless  question  which  millions 
of  other  men  have  asked  when  folly  has  got  them  into 
trouble.  Among  these  thousands  who,  viewed  from 
that  height,  had  a  curious  resemblance  to  ants,  was 
there  such  a  fool  as  he  was?  From  the  Square  they 
streamed  into  Fifth  Avenue;  from  Fifth  Avenue  they 
streamed  into  the  Square.  In  the  Square  and  round 
the  Square  they  squirmed  and  wriggled  and  dawdled 
their  seemingly  aimless  ways.  Great  green  lumber- 
ing omnibuses  disgorged  one  pack  of  them  merely  to 
suck  up  another.  Motors  whirled  them  toward  up- 
town, toward  downtown,  or  east,  or  west,  by  twos 
and  threes,  or  as  individuals.  Like  ants  their  general 
effect  was  black,  with  here  and  there  a  moving  spot 
of  color,  or  of  intermingling  colors,  as  of  flowers  in 
the  wind,  or  tropic  birds. 

He  watched  a  figure  detach  itself  from  the  mass 
swirling  round  a  debouching  omnibus.  It  was  a  little 
black  figure,  just  clearly  enough  defined  to  show  that 
it  was  a  man.  Because  it  was  a  man  it  had  been  a  fool. 
Because  it  had  been  a  fool  it  had  dark  chambers  in  its 

102 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

life  which  it  would  never  willingly  open.  But  it  had 
doubtless  got  something  for  its  folly.  It  might  have 
lost  more  than  it  had  gained,  but  it  could  probably 
reckon  up  and  say,  "At  least  I  had  my  fun." 

And  he  had  had  none.  He  had  squandered  his 
whole  life  on  a  single  act  of  insanity  which  even  in 
the  action  had  produced  nothing  but  disgust.  He 
hadn't  merely  swindled  himself ;  he  had  committed  a 
kind  of  suicide  which  made  death  silly  and  grotesque. 
The  one  thing  that  could  save  him  a  scrap  of  dignity — 
and  such  a  sorry  scrap ! — would  be  going  to  the  devil 
by  the  shortest  way. 

He  had  come  to  the  office  to  begin.  He  would 
begin  by  the  means  that  seemed  obvious.  Now  that 
going  to  the  devil  was  a  task  he  saw,  as  he  had  not 
seen  hitherto,  how  curiously  few  were  the  approaches 
that  would  take  him  there.  Song  being  only  an  ac- 
companiment, he  was  limited  to  the  remaining  two  of 
the  famous  and  familiar  trio. 

Very  well !  Limited  as  he  was  he  would  make  the 
most  of  them.  Knowing  something  of  their  merits  he 
knew  there  was  a  bestial  entertainment  to  be  had  from 
both.  It  was  a  kind  of  entertainment  which  his  cursed 
fastidiousness  had  always  loathed;  but  now  his  reck- 
oning would  be  different.  If  he  got  anything  he 
should  not  feel  so  waste  fully  thrown  away.  He  would 
be  selling  himself  first  and  making  his  bargain  after- 
wards ;  but  some  meager  balance  would  stand  to  his 
credit,  if  credit  it  could  be  called.  When  the  devil  had 
been  reached  the  world  he  knew  would  pardon  him 
because  it  was  the  devil,  and  not — ^what  it  was  in  truth 
— ^an  idiotic  state  of  nerves. 

103 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

At  the  minute  when  Letty  was  leaping  to  her  feet 
to  take  her  stand  he  swung  away  from  the  window. 
First  going  to  Mr.  Radbury's  door  he  closed  it  softly. 
Luckily  the  old  man,  an  inheritance  from  his,  Aller- 
ton's,  father,  was  deaf  and  incurious.  Like  most  clerks 
who  had  clerked  their  way  up  to  seventy  he  was  buried 
in  clerking's  little  round.  He  wouldn't  come  in  till 
the  letters  were  finished,  certainly  not  for  an  hour, 
and  by  that  time  Allerton  would  be  .  .  .  He  almost 
smiled  at  the  old  man's  probable  consternation  on  find- 
ing him  so  before  the  middle  of  the  day.  Any  time 
would  be  bad  enough ;  but  in  the  high  forenoon.  .  .  . 

He  went  to  a  cabinet  which  was  said  to  have  found 
its  way  via  Bordentown  from  the  furnishings  of 
Queen  Caroline  Murat.  Having  opened  it  he  took 
out  a  bottle  and  a  glass.  On  the  label  of  the  bottle 
was  a  kilted  Highlander  playing  on  the  pipes.  A 
siphon  of  soda  was  also  in  the  cabinet,  but  he  left  it 
there.  What  he  had  to  do  would  be  done  more  quickly 
without  its  mitigation. 

While  Allerton  was  making  these  preparations  Jud- 
son  Flack,  in  pajamas  and  slippers,  was  standing  in 
his  toy  kitchen,  looking  helplessly  at  a  small  gas  stove. 
It  was  the  hour  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  at  which 
he  was  accustomed  to  be  waked  with  the  information 
that  his  coffee  and  eggs  were  ready.  The  forenoon 
being  what  he  called  his  slack  time  he  found  the  earlier 
part  of  it  most  profitably  used  for  sleep. 

"Curse  the  girl !" 

The  adjuration  was  called  forth  by  the  fact  that  he 
didn't  know  where  anything  was,  or  how  anything 

104 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

should  be  done.  From  the  simple  expedient  of  going 
for  his  breakfast  to  one  of  the  cheap  restaurants  with 
which  he  was  familiar  he  was  cut  off  by  the  fact  of  an 
unlucky  previous  night.  He  simply  didn't  have  the 
bones.  This  was  not  to  say  that  he  was  penniless,  but 
that  in  view  of  more  public  expenses  later  in  the  day 
it  would  be  well  for  him  to  economize  where  economy 
was  so  obvious.  He  never  had  an  appetite  in  the  morn- 
ing anyway.  With  irregular  eating  and  drinking  all 
through  the  evening  and  far  toward  daylight,  he  found 
a  cup  of  coffee  and  an  egg.  .  .  . 

It  was  easy,  he  knew,  to  make  the  one  and  boil  the 
other,  but  he  was  out  of  practice.  He  couldn't  re- 
member doing  anything  of  the  sort  since  the  days 
before  he  married  Letty's  mother.  Even  then  he  had 
never  tried  this  new-fangled  thing,  the  gas  stove,  so 
that  besides  being  out  of  practice  he  was  at  a  loss. 

"Curse  the  girl !" 

The  resources  of  the  kitchen  being  few  exploration 
didn't  take  him  long.  He  found  bread,  butter,  milk 
that  had  turned  sour,  the  usual  condiments,  some 
coffee  in  a  canister,  and  a  single  egg.  If  he  could 
only  light  the  confounded  gas  stove,  .  .  . 

A  small  white  handle  offering  itself  for  experiment, 
he  turned  it  timidly,  applying  a  match  to  a  geometrical 
pattern  of  holes.  He  jumped  back  as  from  an  explod- 
ing cannon. 

"Curse  the  girl !" 

Having  found  the  way,  however,  the  next  attempt 
was  more  successful.  Soon  he  had  two  geometrical 
patterns  of  holes  burning  in  steady  blue  buttons  of 
flame.    On  the  one  he  placed  the  coffee-pot  into  which 

105 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

he  had  turned  a  pint  of  water  and  a  cupful  of  coffee ; 
on  the  other  a  saucepan  half  full  of  water  containing 
his  egg.  This  being  done  he  retired  to  the  bathroom 
for  the  elements  of  a  toilet. 

"Curse  the  girl!" 

Washing,  shaving,  turning  up  his  mustache  with 
the  little  curling  tongs,  he  observed  with  self-pity  his 
increasing  haggardness.  He  observed  it  also  with  dis- 
may. Looks  were  as  important  to  him  as  to  an  actress. 
His  role  being  youth,  high  spirits,  and  the  devil-may- 
care,  the  least  trace  of  the  wearing  out  would  do  for 
him.  He  had  noticed  some  time  ago  that  he  was  be- 
ginning to  show  fatal  signs,  which  had  the  more  em- 
phatically turned  his  thoughts  to  the  provision  Letty 
might  prove  for  his  old  age. 

"Curse  the  girl !" 

It  was  cursing  the  girl  which  reminded  him  that  he 
had  allowed  more  than  the  necessary  time  for  his 
breakfast  to  be  ready  for  consumption.  Hurrying 
back  to  the  kitchen  he  found  the  egg  gracefully  danc- 
ing as  the  water  boiled.  He  fished  it  out  with  a  spoon 
and  took  it  in  his  hand,  but  he  didn't  keep  it  there. 
Dashing  it  to  the  table,  whence  it  crashed  upon  the 
floor,  he  positively  screamed. 

"Curse  the  girl!" 

He  cursed  her  now  licking  and  sucking  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  and  examining  them  to  see  if  they  were 
scalded.  No  such  calamity  having  occurred  he  took 
up  the  coffee  pot,  leaving  the  mashed  egg  where  it  lay. 
Ladling  a  spoonful  of  sugar  into  a  cup,  and  adding 
the  usual  milk,  he  poured  in  the  coffee,  which  became 
a  muddy  dark  brown  mixture,  with  what  appeared  to 

io6 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

be  a  porridge  of  seeds  floating  on  the  top.  One  sip, 
which  induced  a  diabolical  grimace,  and  he  threw  the 
beverage  at  the  opposite  wall  as  if  it  was  a  man  he 
meant  to  insult. 

"Curse  the  girl!" 

The  appeal  to  the  darker  powers  being  accompanied 
now  by  a  series  of  up-to-date  terms  of  objurgation,  the 
mere  act  of  utterance,  mental  or  articulate,  churned 
him  to  a  frenzy.  Seizing  the  coffee  pot  which  he  had 
replaced  on  the  gas  stove  he  hurled  it  too  against  the 
wall.  It  struck,  splathered  the  hideous  liquor  over  a 
hideous  calsomining  which  had  once  been  blue,  and 
fell  to  the  floor  like  a  living  thing  knocked  insensible. 

The  resemblance  maddened  him  still  more.  It 
might  have  been  Letty,  struck  down  after  having  pro- 
voked him  beyond  patience.  He  rushed  at  it.  He 
hurled  it  again.  He  hurled  it  again.  He  hurled  it 
again.  The  exercise  gave  relief  not  only  to  his  lawful 
resentment  against  Letty,  but  to  those  angers  over  his 
luck  of  last  night  which  as  "a  good  loser"  he  hadn't 
been  at  liberty  to  show.  No  one  knew  the  repressions 
he  was  obliged  to  put  upon  himself ;  but  now  his  in- 
hibitions could  come  off  in  this  soUtary  passion  of 
destruction. 

When  the  coffee  pot  was  a  mere  shapeless  mass  he 
picked  up  the  empty  cup.  It  was  a  thick  stone-china 
cup,  with  a  bar  meant  to  protect  his  mustache  across 
the  top,  a  birthday  present  from  Letty's  mother.  The 
association  of  memories  acted  as  a  further  stimulus. 
Smash!  After  the  cup  went  the  stone-china  sugar 
bowl.  Smash  I  After  the  sugar  bowl  the  plate  with 
the  yellow  chunk  of  butter.  Smash !  After  the  but- 
8  107 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

ter  plate  the  milk  jar,  a  clumsy,  lumpy  thing,  which 
merely  gurgled  out  a  splash  of  milk  and  fell  without 
breaking. 

"Curse  the  girl!  Curse  the  girl!  Curse  the  girl! 
I'll  learn  her  to  go  away  and  leave  me !  I'll  find  her 
and  drag  her  back  if  she's  in.  ,  ,  ," 


Chapter  X 

VVTHILE  Letty  was  beginning  a  new  experience 
VV  Judson  Flack  was  doing  his  best  to  carry  out  his 
threat.  That  is  to  say,  he  was  making  the  round  of  the 
studios  in  which  his  step-daughter  had  occasionally 
found  work,  discreetly  asking  if  she  had  been  there 
that  day.  It  was  all  he  could  think  of  doing.  To  the 
best  of  his  knowledge  she  had  no  friends  with  whom 
she  could  have  taken  refuge,  though  the  suspicion 
crossed  his  mind  that  she  might  have  drowned  herself 
to  spite  him. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Letty  was  asking  the  question 
if  she  wasn't  making  a  mistake  in  not  doing  so,  either 
literally  or  morally.  Never  before  in  her  life  had 
she  been  up  against  this  problem  of  insufficiency. 
Among  the  hard  things  she  had  known  she  had  not 
known  this;  and  now  that  she  was  involved  in  it, 
it  seemed  to  her  harder  than  everything  else  put 
together. 

In  her  humble  round,  bitter  as  it  was,  she  had  always 
been  considered  competent.  It  was  the  sense  of  her 
competence  that  gave  her  the  self-respect  enabling 
her  to  bear  up.  According  to  her  standards  she  could 
keep  house  cleverly,  and  could  make  a  dollar  go  as 
far  as  other  girls  made  two.  When  she  got  her  first 
chance  in  a  studio,  through  an  acquaintance  of  Jud- 
son Flack's,  she  didn't  shrink  from  it,  and  had  more 
than  once  been  chosen  by  a  director  to  be  that  member 

109 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

of  a  crowd  who  moves  In  the  front  and  expresses 
the  crowd  psychologically.  Had  she  only  had  the 
clothes.  .  .  . 

And  now  she  was  to  have  them.  As  far  as  that 
went  she  was  not  merely  glad;  she  was  one  sheer 
quiver  of  excitement.  It  was  not  the  end  she  shrank 
from;  it  was  the  means.  If  she  could  only  have  had 
fifty  dollars  to  go  "poking  round"  where  she  knew 
that  bargains  could  be  found,  she  might  have  enjoyed 
the  prospect ;  but  Steptoe  could  only  "take  measures" 
on  the  grand  scale  to  which  he  was  accustomed. 

The  grand  scale  frightened  her,  chiefly  because  she 
was  dressed  as  she  was  dressed.  It  was  her  first 
thought  and  her  last  one.  When  Steptoe  told  her  the 
hour  at  which  he  had  asked  Eugene  to  bring  round  the 
car  the  mere  vision  of  herself  stepping  into  it  made 
her  want  to  sink  into  the  ground.  Eugene  didn't  live 
in  the  house — she  had  discovered  that — and  so  would 
bring  the  stare  of  another  pair  of  eyes  under  whose 
scrutiny  she  would  have  to  pass.  Those  of  the  three 
women  having  already  scorched  her  to  the  bone,  she 
would  have  to  be  scorched  again. 

She  tried  to  say  this  to  Steptoe,  as  they  stood  in 
the  drawing-room  window  waiting  for  the  car;  but 
she  didn't  know  how  to  make  him  understand  it. 
When  she  tried  to  put  it  into  words,  the  right  words 
wouldn't  come.  Steptoe  had  taken  as  general  what 
she  was  trying  to  explain  to  him  in  particular. 

"It'll  be  very  important  to  madam  to  fyce  what's 
'ard,  and  to  do  it  bryve  like.  It'll  be  the  mykin'  of  'er 
if  she  can.  'Umble  'ill  is  pretty  stiff  to  climb;  but 
them  as  gets  to  the  tc^  of  it  is  tough." 

no 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

She  thought  this  over  silently.  He  meant  that  if  she 
set  herself  to  take  humiliations  as  they  came,  dragging 
herself  up  over  them,  she  would  be  the  stronger  for 
it  in  the  end. 

"It'd  'ave  been  better  for  Mr.  Rashleigh,"  he  mused, 
"if  'e'd  'ad  'ad  somethink  of  the  kind  to  tackle  in  'is 
life;  it'd  'ave  myde  'im  more  of  a  man.  But  because 
'e  adn't — Did  madam  ever  notice,"  he  broke  off  to 
ask,  "  'ow  them  as  'as  everythink  myde  easy  for  'em 
begins  right  off  to  myke  things  'ard  for  theirselves. 
It's  a  kind  of  law  like.  It's  just  as  if  nyture  didn't 
mean  to  let  no  one  escype.  When  a  man's  got  no 
troubles  you  can  think  of,  'e'll  go  to  work  to  create 
'em." 

"Didn't  he — she  had  never  yet  pronounced  the 
name  of  the  man  who  had  married  her — "didn't  he 
ever  have  any  troubles?" 

"  'E  was  fretted  terrible — crossed  like — rubbed  up 
the  wrong  wye,  as  you  might  sye, — but  a  real  trouble 
like  what  you  and  me  'ave  'ad  plenty  of — never !  It's 
my  opinion  that  trouble  is  to  char-ac-ter  what  a  peg'U 
be  to  a  creepin'  vine — something  to  which  the  vine'll 
'ook  on  and  pull  itself  up  by.  Where  there's  nothink 
to  ketch  on  to  the  vine'll  grow ;  but  it'll  grow  in  a 
'eap  of  flop."  There  was  a  tremor  in  his  tone  as  he 
summed  up.    'That's  somethink  like  my  poor  boy." 

Letty  found  this  interesting.  That  in  these  exalted 
circles  there  could  be  a  need  of  refining  chastisement 
came  to  her  as  a  surprise. 

"The  wife  as  I've  always  'oped  for  'im,"  Steptoe 
went  on,  "is  one  that'd  know  what  trouble  was,  and 
'ow  to  f  yce  it.    'E'd  myke  a  grand  'usband  to  a  woman 

III 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

who  was — strong.  But  she'd  'ave  to  be  the  wall  what 
the  creepin'  vine  could  cover  all  over  and — ^and 
beautify." 

'That  wouldn't  be  me." 

"If  I  was  madam  I  wouldn't  be  so  sure  of  that. 
It  don't  do  to  undervalyer  your  own  powers.  If  I'd 
*a  done  that  I  wouldn't  'a  been  where  I  am  to-dye. 
Many's  the  time,  when  I  was  no  more  than  a  poor  little 
foundlin'  boy  in  a  'ome  I've  said  to  myself,  I'm  fit  for 
somethink  big.  Somethink  big  I  always  meant  to  be. 
When  it  didn't  seem  possible  for  me  to  aim  so  'igh 
I'd  myde  up  my  mind  to  be  a  valet  and  a  butler.  It 
comes — your  hambition  does.  What  you've  first  got 
to  do  is  to  form  it ;  and  then  you've  got  to  stick  to  it 
through  thick  and  thin." 

To  say  what  she  said  next  Letty  had  to  break  down 
barrier  beyond  barrier  of  inhibition  and  timidity. 
"And  if  I  was  to — to  form  the — ^the  ambition — to  be 
— to  be  the  kind  of  wall  you  was  talkin'  about  just 
now " 

"That  wouldn't  be  hambition;  it'd  be — consecry- 
tion." 

He  allowed  her  time  to  get  the  meaning  of  this 
before  going  on. 

"But  madam  mustn't  expect  not  to  find  it  'ard. 
Consecrytion  is  always  'ard,  by  what  I  can  myke  out. 
When  Mr.  Rash  was  a  little  'un  'e  used  to  get  Miss 
Pye,  'is  governess,  to  read  to  'im  a  fairy  tyle  about  a 
little  mermaid  what  fell  in  love  with  a  prince  on  land. 
Bein'  in  love  with  'im  she  wanted  to  be  with  'im, 
natural  like ;  but  there  she  was  in  one  element,  as  you 
might  sye,  and  'im  in  another." 

112 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"That'd  be  like  me." 

"Which  is  why  I'm  tellin'  madam  of  the  story. 
Well,  off  the  little  mermaid  goes  to  the  sea-witch  to 
find  out  'ow  she  could  get  rid  of  'er  fish's  tyle  and  'ave 
two  feet  for  to  walk  about  in  the  prince's  palace. 
Well,  the  sea-witch  she  up  and  tells  'er  what  she'd 
'ave  to  do.  Only,  says  she,  if  you  do  that  you'll  'ave 
to  pye  for  it  with  every  step  you  tykes;  for  every 
step  you  tykes'll  be  like  walkin'  on  sharp  blydes.  Now, 
says  she,  to  the  little  mermaid,  do  you  think  it'd  be 
worth  while  ?" 

In  Letty's  eyes  all  the  stars  glittered  with  her 
eagerness  for  the  denouement.  "And  did  she  think 
it  was  worth  while — ^the  little  mermaid?" 

"She  did;  but  I'll  give  madam  the  tyle  to  read  for 
'erself.  It's  in  the  syme  Httle  book  what  Miss  Pye 
used  to  read  out  of — up  in  Mr.  Rash's  old  nursery." 

With  the  pride  of  a  royal  thing  conscious  of  its 
royalty  the  car  rolled  to  the  door  and  stopped.  It 
was  the  prince's  car,  while  she,  Letty,  was  a  mermaid 
bom  in  an  element  different  from  his,  and  encum- 
bered with  a  fish's  tail.  She  must  have  shown  this  in 
her  face,  for  Steptoe  said,  with  his  fatherly  smile : 

"Madam  may  'ave  to  walk  on  blydes — ^but  it'll  be 
in  the  Prince's  palace." 

It'll  be  in  the  Prince's  palace !  Letty  repeated  this 
to  herself  as  she  followed  him  out  to  the  car.  Hold- 
ing the  door  open  for  her,  Eugene,  who  had  been  told 
of  her  romance,  touched  his  cap  respectfully.  When 
she  had  taken  her  seat  he  tucked  the  robe  round  her, 
respectfully  again.  Steptoe  marked  the  social  differ- 
ence between  them  by  sitting  beside  Eugene. 

"3 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Rolling  down  Fifth  Avenue  Letty  was  as  much  at 
a  loss  to  account  for  herself  as  Elijah  must  have  been 
in  the  chariot  of  fire.  She  didn't  know  where  she  was 
going.  She  was  not  even  able  to  ask.  The  succession 
of  wonders  within  twenty-four  hours  blocked  the 
working  of  her  faculties.  She  thought  of  the  girls 
who  sneered  at  her  in  the  studios — she  thought  of 
Judson  Flack — and  of  what  they  would  say  if  they 
were  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her. 

She  was  not  so  unsophisticated  as  to  be  without 
some  appreciation  of  the  quarter  of  New  York  in 
which  she  found  herself.  She  knew  it  was  the  "swell" 
quarter.  She  knew  that  the  world's  symbols  of  money 
and  display  were  concentrated  here,  and  that  in  some 
queer  way  she,  poor  waif,  had  been  given  a  command 
of  them.  One  day  homeless,  friendless,  and  penniless, 
and  the  next  driving  down  Fifth  Avenue  in  a  limousine 
which  might  be  called  her  own ! 

The  motor  was  slowing  down.  It  was  drawing  to 
the  curb.  They  had  reached  the  place  to  which  Step- 
toe  had  directed  Eugene.  Letty  didn't  have  to  look 
at  the  name-plate  to  know  she  was  where  the  great 
stars  got  their  gowns,  and  that  she  was  being  invited 
into  Margot's! 

You  know  Margot's,  of  course.  A  great  interna- 
tional house,  Margot — the  secret  is  an  open  one — is 
but  the  incognita  of  a  business-like  English  countess 
who  finds  it  financially  profitable  to  sign  articles  on 
costume  written  by  someone  else,  and  be  sponsor  for 
the  newest  fashions  which  someone  else  designs.  As 
a  way  of  turning  an  impoverished  historic  title  to 
account  it  is  as  good  as  any  other. 

114. 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Without  knowing  who  Margot  was  Letty  knew 
what  she  was.  She  couldn't  have  frequented  studios 
without  hearing  that  much,  and  once  or  twice  in  her 
wanderings  about  the  city  she  had  paused  to  admire 
the  door.  It  was  all  there  was  to  admire,  since  Mar- 
got,  to  Letty's  regret,  didn't  display  confections  be- 
hind plate-glass. 

It  was  a  Flemish  chateau  which  had  been  a  resi- 
dence before  business  had  traveled  above  Forty-sec- 
ond Street.  A  man  in  livery  would  have  barred  them 
from  passing  the  wrought-iron  grille  had  it  not  been 
for  the  car  from  which  they  had  emerged.  Only 
people  worthy  of  being  customers  of  the  house  could 
afford  such  cars,  and  he  saw  that  Steptoe  was  a 
servant.  What  Letty  was  he  couldn't  see,  for  servants 
of  great  houses  never  looked  so  nondescript. 

In  the  great  hall  a  beautiful  staircase  swept  to  an 
upper  floor,  but  apart  from  a  Louis  Seize  mirror  and 
console  flanked  by  two  Louis  Seize  chairs  there  was 
nothing  and  no  one  to  be  seen.  Steptoe  turned  to 
the  right  into  a  vast  saloon  with  a  cinnamon-colored 
carpet  and  walls  of  cool  French  gray,  A  group  of 
gilded  chairs  were  the  only  furnishings,  except  for  a 
gilded  canape  between  two  French  windows  draped 
with  cinnamon-colored  hangings.  A  French  fender 
with  French  andirons  filled  the  fireplace,  and  on  the 
white  marble  mantelpiece  stood  a  garniture  de 
cheminee,  a  clock  and  two  vases,  in  biscuit  de  Sevres. 

At  the  end  of  the  room  opposite  the  windows  a 
woman  in  black,  with  coiffure  a  la  Marcel,  sat  at  a 
white-enamelled  desk  working  with  a  ledger.  A  sec- 
ond woman  in  black,  also  with  coiffure  a  la  Marcel, 

"5 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

stood  holding  open  the  doors  of  a  white-enamelled 
wardrobe,  gazing  at  its  multi-colored  contents.  Two 
other  women  in  black,  still  with  coiffure  a  la  Marcel, 
were  bending  over  a  white-enamelled  drawer  in  a  series 
of  white-enamelled  drawers,  discussing  in  low  tones. 
There  were  no  customers.  For  such  a  house  the  season 
had  not  yet  begun.  Though  in  this  saloon  voices 
were  pitched  as  low  as  for  conversation  in  a  church, 
the  sharp  catgut  calls  of  Frenchwomen — and  of 
French  dressmakers  especially — came  from  a  room 
beyond. 

Overawed  by  this  vastness,  simplicity,  and  solem- 
nity, Steptoe  and  Letty  stood  barely  within  the  door, 
waiting  till  someone  noticed  them.  No  one  did  so  till 
the  woman  holding  open  the  wardrobe  doors  closed 
them  and  turned  round.  She  did  not  come  forward 
at  once;  she  only  stared  at  them.  Still  keeping  her 
eye  on  the  newcomers  she  called  the  attention  of  the 
ladies  occupied  with  the  drawer,  who  lifted  them- 
selves up.  They  too  stared.  The  lady  at  the  desk 
stared  also. 

It  was  the  lady  of  the  wardrobe  who  advanced  at 
last,  slowly,  with  dignity,  her  hands  genteelly  clasped 
in  front  of  her.  She  seemed  to  be  saying,  "No,  we 
don't  want  any,"  or,  "I'm  sorry  we've  nothing  to  give 
you,"  by  her  very  walk.  Letty,  with  her  gift  for 
dramatic  interpretation,  could  see  this,  though  Steptoe, 
familiar  as  he  was  with  ladies  whom  he  would  have 
classed  as  "  'igher,"  was  not  daunted.  He  too  went 
forward,  meeting  madam  half  way. 

Of  what  was  said  between  them  Letty  could  hear 
nothing,  but  the  expression  on  the  lady's  face  was 

ii6 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

dissuasive.  She  was  telling  Steptoe  that  he  had  come 
to  the  wrong  place,  while  Steptoe  was  saying  no. 
From  time  to  time  the  lady  would  send  a  glance  toward 
Letty,  not  in  disdain,  but  in  perplexity.  It  was  per- 
plexity which  reached  its  climax  when  Steptoe  drew 
from  an  inside  pocket  an  impressive  roll  of  bills. 

The  lady  looked  at  the  bills,  but  she  also  looked  at 
Letty.  The  honor  of  a  house  like  Margot's  is  not 
merely  in  making  money;  it  is  in  its  clientele.  To 
have  a  poor  little  waif  step  in  from  the  street.  .  .  . 

And  yet  it  was  because  she  was  a  poor  little  waif 
that  she  interested  the  ladies  looking  on.  She  was  so 
striking  an  exception  to  their  rule  that  her  very  coming 
in  amazed  them.  One  of  the  two  who  had  remained 
near  the  open  drawer  came  forward  into  conference 
with  her  colleague,  adding  her  dissuasions  to  those 
which  Steptoe  had  already  refused  to  listen  to. 

"There  are  plenty  of  other  places  to  which  you 
could  go,"  Letty  heard  this  second  lady  say,  "and 
probably  do  better." 

Steptoe  smiled,  that  old  man's  smile  which  was 
rarely  ineffective.  "Madam  don't  'ave  to  tell  me  as 
there's  plenty  of  other  plyces  to  which  I  could  go; 
but  there's  none  where  I  could  do  as  well." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?'* 

"I'm  butler  to  a  'igh  gentleman  what  *e  used  to 
entertyne  quite  a  bit  when  'is  mother  was  alive.  I've 
listened  to  lydies  talkin*  at  tyble.  No  one  can't  tell 
me.    I  know/' 

Both  madams  smiled.  Each  shot  another  glance  at 
Letty.  It  was  plain  that  they  were  curious  as  to  her 
identity.    One  of  them  made  a  venture. 

117 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"And  is  this  your — your  daughter?" 

Steptoe  explained,  not  without  dignity,  that  the 
young  lady  was  not  his  daughter,  but  that  she  had 
come  into  qiuite  a  good  bit  of  money,  and  had  done  it 
sudden  like.  She  needed  a  'igh,  grand  outfit,  though 
for  the  present  she  would  be  content  with  three  or 
four  of  the  dresses  most  commonly  worn  by  a  lydy 
of  stytion.  He  preferred  to  nyme  no  nymes,  but  he 
was  sure  that  even  Margot  would  not  regret  her  con- 
fidence— and  he  had  the  cash,  as  they  saw,  in  his 
pocket. 

Of  this  the  result  was  an  exchange  between  the 
madams  of  comprehending  looks,  while,  in  French, 
one  said  to  the  other  that  it  might  be  well  to  consult 
Madame  Simone. 

Madame  Simone,  who  bustled  in  from  the  back 
room,  was  not  in  black,  but  in  frowzy  gray;  her 
coiflFure  was  not  a  la  Marcel,  but  as  Letty  described 
it,  "all  anyway."  A  short,  stout,  practical  French- 
woman, she  had  progressed  beyond  the  need  to  con- 
sider looks,  and  no  longer  considered  them.  The  two 
shapely  subordinates  with  whom  Steptoe  had  been 
negotiating  followed  her  at  a  distance  like  attendants. 

She  disposed  of  the  whole  matter  quickly,  address- 
ing the  attendants  rather  than  the  postulants  for  Mar- 
got's  favor. 

"Mademoiselle  she  want  an  outfit — good! — ^bon! 
We  don't  know  her,  but  what  difference  does  that 
make  to  me? — qu'est  ce  que  c'est  que  cela  me  fait? 
Money  is  money,  isn't  it  ? — de  1 'argent  c'est  de  I'argent, 
n'est-ce  pas? — at  this  time  of  year  especially — a  cette 
saison  de  I'annee  surtout." 

ii8 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

To  Steptoe  and  Letty  she  said :  "  'Ave  the  good- 
ness to  sit  yourselves  'ere.  Me,  I  will  show  you  what 
we  'ave.  A  street  costume  first  for  mademoiselle.  If 
mademoiselle  will  allow  me  to  look  at  her — Ah,  oui ! 
Ze  taille — ^what  you  call  in  Eenglish  the  figure — is 
excellent.  Tres  chic.  With  ze  proper  closes  made- 
moiselle would  have  style — de  I'elegance  naturelle — 
that  sees  itself — cela  se  voit — oui — oui " 

Meditating  to  herself  she  studied  Letty,  indifferent 
apparently  to  the  actual  costume  and  atrocious  hat, 
like  a  seeress  not  viewing  what  is  at  her  feet  but 
events  of  far  away. 

With  a  sudden  start  she  sprang  to  her  convictions. 
"I  'ave  it.  J'y  suis."  A  shrill  piercing  cry  like  that 
of  a  wounded  cockatoo  went  down  the  long  room. 
"Alphonsine  1    Alphon^W !" 

Someone  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  communicating 
rooms.  Madame  Simone  gave  her  orders  in  a  few 
sharp  staccato  French  sentences.  After  that  Letty 
and  Steptoe  found  themselves  sitting  on  two  of  the 
gilded  chairs,  unexpectedly  alone.  The  other  ladies 
had  returned  to  their  tasks.  Madame  Simone  had 
gone  back  to  the  place  whence  they  had  summoned 
her.  Nothing  had  happened.  It  seemed  to  be  all 
over.    They  waited. 

"Ain't  she  goin'  to  show  us  nothin'  ?"  Letty  whis- 
pered anxiously.    "They  always  do." 

Steptoe  was  puzzled  but  recommended  patience. 
He  couldn't  think  that  Madame  could  have  begun  so 
kindly,  only  to  go  off  and  leave  them  in  the  lurch. 
It  was  not  what  he  had  looked  for,  any  more  than  she ; 
but  he  had  always  found  patient  waiting  advantageous. 

119 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Perhaps  ten  minutes  had  gone  by  when  a  new  figure 
wandered  toward  them.  Strutted  would  perhaps  be 
the  better  word,  since  she  stepped  like  a  person  for 
whom  stepping  means  a  calculation.  She  was  about 
Letty's  height,  and  about  Letty's  figure.  Moreover, 
she  was  pretty,  with  that  haughtiness  of  mien  which 
turns  prettiness  to  beauty.  What  was  most  discon- 
certing was  her  coming  straight  toward  Letty,  and 
standing  in  front  of  her  to  stare. 

Letty  colored  to  the  eyes — ^her  deep,  damask  flush. 
The  insult  was  worse  than  anything  offered  by  Mrs. 
Courage ;  for  Mrs.  Courage  after  all  was  only  a  ser- 
vant, and  this  a  young  lady  of  distinction.  Letty  had 
never  seen  anyone  dressed  with  so  much  taste,  not 
even  the  stars  as  they  came  on  the  studio  lot  in  their 
everyday  costumes.  Indignant  as  she  was  she  could 
appreciate  this  delicate  seal-brown  cloth,  with  its  bits 
of  gold  braid,  and  darling  glimpses  of  sage-green 
wherever  the  lining  showed  indiscreetly.  The  hat  was 
a  darling  too,  brown  with  a  feather  between  brown 
and  green,  the  one  color  or  the  other  according  as  the 
wearer  moved. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  this  cool  insolence.  .  .  .  And 
then  the  young  lady  deliberately  swung  on  her  heel, 
which  was  high,  to  move  some  five  or  six  yards  away, 
where  she  stood  with  her  back  to  them.  It  was  a 
darling  back — ^with  just  enough  gold  braid  to  relieve 
the  simplicity,  and  the  tiniest  revelation  of  sage-green. 
Letty  admired  it  the  more  poignantly  for  its  cold  con- 
tempt of  herself. 

Steptoe  was  not  often  put  out  of  countenance,  but  it 
seemed  to  have  happened  now.     "I  can't  think,"  he 

120 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

murmured,  as  one  who  contemplates  the  impossible, 
"that  the  French  madam  can  'ave  been  so  civil  to 
begin  with,  just  to  go  and  make  a  guy  of  us." 

"If  all  her  customers  is  like  this "  Letty  began. 

But  the  young  lady  of  distinction  turned  again, 
stepping  a  few  paces  toward  the  back  of  the  room, 
swinging  on  herself,  stepping  a  few  paces  toward  the 
front  of  the  room,  swinging  on  herself  again,  and  all 
the  while  flinging  at  Letty  glances  which  said:  "If 
you  want  to  see  scorn,  this  is  it." 

Fascination  kept  Letty  paralyzed.  Steptoe  grew 
uneasy. 

"I  wish  the  French  madam'd  come  back  agyne," 
he  murmured,  from  half  closed  lips.  "We  'aven't 
come  'ere  to  be  myde  a  spectacle  of — not  for  no  one." 

And  just  then  the  seal-brown  figure  strolled  away, 
as  serenely  and  impudently  as  she  had  come. 

"Well,  of  all !" 

Letty's  exclamation  was  stifled  by  the  fact  that  as 
the  first  young  lady  of  (distinction  passed  out  a  second 
crossed  her  coming  in.  They  took  no  notice  of  each 
other,  though  the  newcomer  walked  straight  up  to 
Letty,  not  to  stare  but  to  toss  up  her  chin  with  a  hint 
of  laughter  suppressed.  Laughter,  suppressed  or  un- 
suppressed,  was  her  note.  She  was  all  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed  vivacity.  It  was  a  relief  to  Letty  that  she 
didn't  stare.  She  twitched,  she  twisted,  she  pirouetted, 
striking  dull  gleams  from  an  embroidery  studded 
with  turquoise  and  jade — ^but  she  hadn't  the  hard 
unconscious  arrogance  of  the  other  one. 

All  the  same  it  pained  Letty  that  great  ladies  should 
be  so  beautiful.    Not  that  this  one  was  beautiful  of 

121 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

face — she  wasn't — only  piquant — but  the  general 
effect  was  beautiful.  It  showed  what  money  and  the 
dressmaker  could  do.  If  she,  Letty  could  have  had 
a  dress  and  a  hat  like  this ! — a  blue  or  a  green,  it  was 
difficult  to  say  which — with  these  strips  of  jade  and 
turquoise  on  a  ground  of  the  purplish-greenish-blue 
she  remembered  as  that  of  the  monkshood  in  the  old 
farm  garden  in  Canada — and  the  darlingest  hat,  with 
one  long  feather  beginning  as  green  and  graduating 
through  every  impossible  shade  of  green  and  blue  till 
it  ended  in  a  monkshood  tip.  .  .  . 

No  wonder  the  girl's  blue  eyes  danced  and  quizzed 
and  laughed.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Letty  commented, 
the  eyes  brought  a  little  too  much  blue  into  the  com- 
position. It  was  her  only  criticism.  As  a  whole  it 
lacked  contrast.  If  she  herself  had  worn  this  costume 
— with  her  gold-stone  eyes — and  brown  hair — and 
rich  coloring,  when  she  had  any  color — blue  was 
always  a  favorite  shade  with  her — when  she  could 
choose,  which  wasn't  often — she  remembered  as  a 
child  on  the  farm  how  she  used  to  plaster  herself  with 
the  flowers  of  the  blue  succory — ^the  dust-flower  they 
called  it  down  there  because  it  seemed  to  thrive  like 
the  disinherited  on  the  dust  of  the  wayside — not  but 
what  the  seal-brown  was  adorable.  .  .  , 

The  spectacle  grew  dazzling,  difficult  for  Steptoe 
to  keep  up  with.  He  and  Letty  were  plainly  objects 
of  interest  to  these  grand  folk,  because  there  were 
now  four  or  five  of  them.  They  advanced,  receded, 
came  up  and  studied  them,  wheeled  away,  smiled  some- 
times at  each  other  with  the  high  self-assurance  of 
beauty  and  position,  pranced,  pawed,  curveted,  were 

122 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

noble  or  coquettish  as  the  inner  self  impelled,  but 
always  the  embodiment  of  overweening  pride.  Among 
the  "real  gentry,"  as  he  called  them,  there  had  unfail- 
ingly been  for  him  and  his  colleagues  a  courtesy  which 
might  have  been  called  only  a  distinction  in  equality, 
whereas  these  high-steppers.  .  .  . 

It  was  a  relief  to  see  the  French  madam  bustling  in 
again  from  the  room  at  the  back.  Steptoe  rose.  He 
meant  to  express  himself.  Letty  hoped  he  would. 
For  people  who  brought  money  in  their  hands  this 
treatment  was  too  much.  When  Steptoe  advanced  to 
meet  madam,  she  went  with  him.  As  her  champion 
she  must  bear  him  out. 

But  madam  forestalled  them.  "I  'ope  that  made- 
moiselle has  seen  something  what  she  like.  Me,  I 
thought  the  brown  costume — cceur  de  le  marguerite 
jaune  we  call  it  ziz  season " 

Letty  was  quick.  She  had  heard  of  mannequins, 
the  living  models,  though  so  remotely  as  to  give  her 
no  visualized  impression.  Suddenly  knowing  what 
they  had  been  looking  at  she  adapted  herself  before 
Steptoe  could  get  his  protest  into  words. 

"I  liked  the  seal-brown;  but  for  me  I  thought  the 
second  one " 

Madame  Simone  nodded,  sagely.  "Why  shouldn't 
mademoiselle  'ave  both  ?" 


Chapter  XI 

WHILE  this  question  was  being  put,  and  Steptoe 
was  rising  to  what  he  saw  as  the  real  occasion, 
Rashleigh  Allerton  too  was  having  a  new  experience. 
He  couldn't  understand  it;  he  couldn't  understand 
himself.  Not  that  that  was  strange,  since  he  had 
hardly  ever  understood  himself  at  any  time ;  but  now 
he  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  "absolutely  stumped." 

He  had  put  on  the  table  the  bottle  on  which  the 
kilted  Highlander  was  playing  on  the  pipes;  he  had 
poured  himself  a  glass.  It  was  what  he  called  a  good 
stiff  glass,  meant,  metaphorically,  to  kill  or  cure,  and 
he  hoped  it  would  be  to  kill. 

And  that  was  all. 

He  had  sat  looking  at  it,  or  he  had  looked  at  it  while 
walking  about ;  but  he  had  only  looked  at  it.  It  was 
as  far  as  he  could  go.  Now  that  to  go  farther  had 
become  what  he  called  a  duty  the  perversity  of  his 
nerves  was  such  that  they  refused.  It  was  like  him. 
He  could  always  do  the  forbidden,  the  dare-devil,  the 
crazily  mad ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  reasonable  and 
straightforward  something  in  him  balked.  Here  he 
was  at  what  should  have  been  the  beginning  of  the 
end,  and  the  demon  which  at  another  time  would 
have  driven  him  on  was  holding  him  back.  Temp- 
tation had  worked  itself  round  the  other  way.  It 
was  temptation  not  to  do,  when  saving  grace  lay 
in  doing. 

124 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

An  hour  or  more  had  gone  by  when  Mr.  Radbury 
knocked  at  the  door,  timidly. 

"Come  in,  Radbury,"  Allerton  cried,  in  a  gayety  he 
didn't  feel.    "Have  a  drink." 

Mr.  Radbury  looked  at  the  bottle  and  the  glass. 
He  looked  at  his  young  employer,  who  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  was  again  standing  by  the  window. 
It  was  the  first  time  in  all  the  years  of  his  service, 
first  with  the  father  and  then  with  the  son,  that  this 
invitation  had  been  given  him. 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Rash,"  he  said,  with  a  thick,  shaky 
utterance.  "Liquor  and  I  are  strangers.  I  wish  I 
could  feel " 

But  the  old  man's  trembling  anxiety  forced  on 
Allerton  the  fact  that  the  foolish  game  was  up.  "All 
right,  Radbury.  Was  only  joking.  No  harm  done. 
Had  only  taken  the  thing  out  to — ^to  look  at  it." 

Before  sitting  down  to  read  and  sign  the  letters  he 
put  both  glass  and  bottle  back  into  the  keeping  of 
Queen  Caroline  Murat,  saying  to  himself  as  he  did 
so :   "I  must  find  some  other  way." 

He  was  thrown  back  thus  on  Barbara's  suggestion 
of  a  few  hours  earlier.  He  must  get  rid  of  the  girl ! 
He  had  scarcely  as  yet  considered  this  proposal,  though 
not  because  he  deemed  it  unworthy  of  himself.  Noth- 
ing could  be  unworthy  of  himself.  A  man  who  was 
so  little  of  a  man  as  he  was  entitled  to  do  anything, 
however  base,  and  feel  no  shame.  It  was  simply 
that  his  mind  hadn't  worked  round  to  looking  at 
the  thing  as  feasible.  And  yet  it  was;  plainly  it 
was.  The  law  allowed  for  it,  if  one  only  took  advan- 
tage of  the  law's  allowances.    It  would  be  beastly,  of 

125 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

course;  and  more  beastly  for  him  than  the  average 
of  men;  but  because  it  was  beastly  it  were  better 
done  at  once,  before  the  girl  got  used  to  luxurious 
surroundings. 

But  even  this  resolution,  speedy  as  it  was,  came  a 
little  late.  By  evening  Letty  was  already  growing 
used  to  luxurious  surroundings,  and  finding  herself 
at  home  in  them. 

First,  there  were  no  longer  any  women  in  the 
house,  and  with  the  three  men — Steptoe's  friends  being 
already  installed — she  found  herself  safe  from  the 
prying  and  criticizing  feminine. 

Secondly,  some  of  the  new  clothes  had  already  come 
home,  and  she  was  now  wearing  the  tea-gown  she 
had  long  dreamt  of  but  had  never  aspired  to  possess. 
It  was  of  a  blue  so  dark  as  to  be  almost  black,  with  a 
flame  colored  bar  across  the  breast,  harmonizing  with 
her  hair  and  eyes.  Of  her  eyes  she  wasn't  thinking ; 
but  her  hair.  .  .  . 

That,  however,  was  another  part  of  the  day's  fairy 
tale. 

When  the  dresses  had  been  bought  and  paid  for 
madame  presumed  to  Steptoe  that  mademoiselle  was 
under  some  rich  gentleman's  protection.  Taking 
words  at  their  face  value,  as  she,  Letty,  did  herself, 
Steptoe  admitted  that  she  was.  Madam  made  it  plain 
that  she  understood  this  honor,  which  often  came  to 
girls  of  the  humblest  classes,  and  the  need  there  could 
be  for  supplementing  wardrobes  suddenly.  After 
that  it  was  confidence  for  confidence.  Madame  had 
seen  that  in  the  matter  of  lingerie  mademoiselle  "left 
to  desire,"  and  though  Margot  made  no  specialty  in 

126 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

this  line,  they  happened  to  have  on  an  upper  floor  a 
consignment  just  arrived  from  Paris,  and  if  monsieur 
would  allow  mademoiselle  to  come  up  and  inspect 
it.  .  .  .  Then  it  was  Madame  Simone's  coiffeur.  At 
least  it  was  the  coiffeur  whom  Madame  Simone 
recommended,  who  came  to  the  house,  after  Letty 
had  donned  a  peignoir  from  the  consignment  just 
arrived  from  Paris.  .  .  .  And  now,  at  half  past  nine 
in  the  evening,  it  was  the  memory  of  a  day  of  mingled 
agony  and  enchantment. 

Having  looked  her  over  as  he  summoned  her  to 
dinner,  Steptoe  had  approved  of  her.  He  had  ap- 
proved of  her  with  an  inner  emphasis  stronger  than 
he  expressed.  Letty  didn't  know  how  she  knew  this ; 
but  she  knew.  She  knew  that  her  transformation  was 
a  surprise  to  him.  She  knew  that  though  he  had 
hoped  much  from  her  she  was  giving  him  more  than 
he  had  hoped.  Nothing  that  he  said  told  her  this, 
but  something  in  his  manner — in  his  yearning  as  he 
passed  her  the  various  dishes  and  tactfully  showed  her 
how  to  help  herself,  in  the  tenderness  with  which  he 
repeated  correctly  her  little  slips  in  words — something 
in  this  betrayed  it. 

She  knew  it,  too,  when  after  dinner  he  begged  her 
not  to  escape  to  the  little  back  room,  but  to  take  her 
place  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Madam'll  find  that  it'll  pass  the  time  for  'er. 
Maybe  too  Mr.  Rashleigh'U  come  in.  'E  does  some- 
times— early  like.  I've  known  'im  to  come  'ome  by 
'alf  past  nine,  and  if  'is  ma  wasn't  sittin'  in  the  drorin' 
room  'e'd  be  quite  put  out.  Lydies  mostly  wjrtes  till 
their  'usbands  comes  in;  and  in  cyse  madam'd  feel 

127 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

lonely  I'll  leave  the  door  open  to  the  back  part  of  the 
'ouse,  and  she'll  'ear  me  talkin'  to  the  boys." 

The  October  evening  being  chilly  he  lit  a  fire. 
Drawing  up  in  front  of  it  a  small  armchair,  suited  for 
a  lady's  use,  he  placed  behind  it  a  table  with  an  elec- 
tric lamp.  Letty  smiled  up  at  him.  He  had  never 
seen  her  smile  before,  and  now  that  he  did  he  made 
to  himself  another  comment  of  approval. 

"You're  awful  good  to  me." 

He  reflected  as  to  how  he  could  bring  home  to  her 
the  grammatical  mistake. 

"Madam  finds  me  horfly  good,  does  she?  P'rhaps 
that's  because  madam  don't  know  that  'er  comin'  to 
this  'ouse  gratifies  a  tyste  o'  mine  for  which  I  ain't 
never  'ad  no  gratificytion." 

As  he  put  a  footstool  to  her  feet  he  caught  the 
question  she  so  easily  transmitted  by  her  eyes. 

"P'raps  madam  can  hunderstand  that  after  doin* 
things  all  my  life  for  people  as  is  used  to  'em  I've 
*ad  a  kind  o'  cryvin'  to  do  'em  for  them  as  'aven't  'ad 
nothink,  and  who  could  enjoy  them  more.  I  told 
madam  yesterday  I  was  somethink  of  a  anarchist,  and 
that's  'ow  I  am — wantin'  to  give  the  poor  a  wee  little 
bit  of  what  the  rich  'as  to  throw  awye." 

Later  he  brought  her  an  old  red  book,  open  at  a 
page  on  which  she  read,  The  Little  Mermaid. 

Her  heart  leaped.  It  was  from  this  volume  that 
Miss  Pye  had  read  to  the  Prince  when  he  was  a  child. 
She  let  her  eyes  run  along  the  opening  words. 

"Far  out  in  the  sea  the  water  is  as  blue  as  the 
petals  of  the  cornflower,  and  clear  as  the  purest  glass." 

She  liked  this  sentence.  It  took  her  into  a  blue 
128 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

world.  It  was  curious,  she  thought,  how  much  mean- 
ing there  was  in  colors.  If  you  looked  through  red 
glass  the  world  was  angry;  if  through  yellow,  it  was 
lit  with  an  extraordinary  sun;  if  through  blue,  you 
had  the  sensation  of  universal  happiness.  She  sup- 
posed that  that  was  why  blue  flowers  always  made  you 
feel  that  there  was  a  want  in  life  which  ought  to  be 
supplied — and  wasn't. 

She  remembered  a  woman  who  had  a  farm  near 
them  in  Canada,  who  grew  only  blue  flowers  in  her 
garden.  The  neighbors  said  she  was  crazy;  but  she, 
Letty,  had  liked  that  garden  better  than  all  the 
gardens  she  knew.  She  would  go  there  and  talk  to 
that  woman,  and  listen  to  what  she  had  to  say  of 
Nature's  peculiar  love  of  blue.  The  sea  and  sky  were 
loveliest  when  they  were  blue,  and  so  were  the  birds. 
There  were  blue  stones,  the  woman  said,  precious 
stones,  and  other  stones  that  were  little  more  than 
rocks,  which  said  something  to  the  heart  when  pearls 
and  diamonds  spoke  only  to  the  eyes.  In  the  fields, 
orchards,  and  gardens,  white  flowers,  yellow  flowers, 
red  flowers  were  common ;  but  blue  flowers  were  rare 
and  retiring,  as  if  they  guarded  a  secret  which  men 
should  come  and  search  out. 

To  this  there  was  only  one  exception.  Letty  would 
notice  as  she  trudged  back  to  her  father's  farm  that 
along  the  August  roadsides  there  was  a  blue  flower — 
of  a  blue  you  would  never  see  anjrwhere  else,  not  even 
in  the  sky — which  grew  in  the  dust,  and  lived  on  dust, 
and  out  of  the  dust  drew  elements  of  beauty  such  as 
roses  and  lilies  couldn't  boast  of.  "That  means,"  the 
crazy  woman  said,  "that  there's  nothing  so  dry,  or 

129 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

parched,  or  sterile,  that  God  can't  take  it  and  fashion 
from  it  the  most  priceless  treasures  of  loveliness,  if 
we  only  had  the  eyes  to  see  them." 

Letty  never  forgot  this,  and  during  all  the  inter- 
vening years  the  dust  flower,  with  its  heavenly  color, 
had  been  the  wild  growing  thing  she  loved  best.  It 
spoke  to  her.  It  not  only  responded  to  the  ache  she 
felt  within  herself,  but  gave  a  promise  of  assuagement. 
She  had  never  expected  the  fulfilment  of  that  promise, 
but  was  it  possible  that  now  it  was  going  to  be  kept? 

With  her  eyes  on  the  fire  she  saw  the  color  of  the 
dust  flower  close  to  the  flaming  wood.  It  was  the 
closest  of  all  the  colors,  the  one  the  burning  heart  kept 
nearest  to  itself.  It  seemed  to  be,  as  the  crazy  woman 
said,  dear  to  Nature  itself,  its  own  beloved  secret, 
the  secret  which,  even  when  written  in  the  dust  of  the 
wayside,  or  in  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  hardly  anyone 
read  or  found  out. 

And  as  she  was  dreaming  of  this  and  of  her  Prince, 
Rashleigh  was  walking  up  the  avenue,  saying  to  him- 
self that  he  must  make  an  end  of  it.  He  was  walking 
home  because,  having  dined  at  the  Club,  he  found 
himself  too  restless  to  stay  there.  Walking  relieved 
his  nerves,  and  enabled  him  to  think.  He  must  have 
the  thing  over  and  done  with.  She  would  go  decently, 
of  course,  since,  as  he  had  promised  her,  she  would 
have  plenty  of  money  to  go  with — plenty  of  money  for 
the  rest  of  her  life — and  that  was  the  sole  considera- 
tion. She  would  doubtless  be  as  glad  to  escape  as  he 
to  have  her  disappear.  After  that,  so  his  lawyer  had 
assured  him  in  the  afternoon,  the  legal  steps  would  be 
relatively  easy. 

130 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Letting  himself  in  with  his  latchkey  he  was  sur- 
prised to  see  a  light  in  the  drawing-room.  It  had 
not  been  lighted  up  at  night,  as  far  as  he  could  re- 
member, since  the  days  when  his  mother  was  accus- 
tomed to  sit  there.  If  he  came  home  early  he  had 
always  used  the  library,  which  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  house  and  at  the  back. 

He  went  into  the  front  drawing-room,  which  was 
empty;  but  a  fire  burnt  in  the  back  one,  and  before  it 
someone  was  seated.  It  was  not  the  girl  he  had  found 
in  the  park.  It  was  a  lady  whom  he  didn't  recognize, 
but  clearly  a  lady.  She  was  reading  a  book,  and  had 
evidently  not  heard  his  entrance  or  his  step. 

With  the  shadows  of  the  front  drawing-room  be- 
hind him  he  stood  between  the  portieres,  and  looked. 
He  had  looked  for  some  seconds  before  the  lady  raised 
her  eyes.  She  raised  them  with  a  start.  Slowly  there 
stole  into  her  cheek  the  dark  red  of  confusion.  She 
dropped  the  book.    She  rose. 

It  wasn't  till  she  rose  that  he  knew  her.  It  wasn't 
till  he  knew  her  that  he  was  seized  by  an  astonishment 
which  almost  made  him  laugh.  It  wasn't  till  he  almost 
laughed  that  he  went  forward  with  the  words,  which 
insensibly  bridged  some  of  the  gulf  between  them : 

"Oh!    Sothisis— ^'owr 


Chapter  XII 

IETTY  had  not  heard  Allerton's  entrance  or  ap- 
-^  preach  because  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
was  lost  in  the  magic  of  Hans  Andersen. 

"The  sun  had  just  gone  down  as  the  little  mermaid 
lifted  her  head  above  the  water.  The  clouds  were 
brilliant  in  purple  and  gold,  and  through  the  pale, 
rose-tinged  air  the  evening  star  shone  clear  and  bright. 
The  air  was  warm  and  mild ;  the  sea  at  rest.  A  great 
ship  with  three  masts  lay  close  by,  only  one  sail  un- 
furled, for  there  was  no  breath  of  air,  and  the  sailors 
sat  aloft  in  the  rigging  or  leaned  lazily  over  the  bul- 
warks. Music  and  singing  filled  the  air,  and  as  the 
sky  darkened  hundreds  of  Chinese  lanterns  were 
lighted.  It  seemed  as  if  the  flags  of  every  nation  were 
hung  out.  The  little  mermaid  swam  up  to  the  cabin 
window,  and  every  time  she  rose  upon  the  waves  she 
could  see  through  the  clear  glass  that  the  room  was 
full  of  brilliantly  dressed  people.  Handsomest  of  all 
was  the  young  prince  with  the  great  dark  eyes." 

Allerton's  eyes  were  dark,  and  though  she  did  not 
consider  him  precisely  young,  the  analogy  between 
him  and  the  hero  of  the  tale  was  sufficient  to  take  her 
e3^s  from  the  book  and  to  set  her  to  dreaming. 

"He  could  not  be  more  than  sixteen  years  old,  and 
this  was  his  birthday.  All  this  gaiety  was  in  honor 
of  him;  the  sailors  danced  upon  the  deck;  and  when 
the  young  prince  came  out  a  myriad  of  rockets  flew 

132 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

high  in  the  air,  with  a  glitter  like  the  brightest  noontide, 
and  the  little  mermaid  was  so  frightened  that  she  dived 
deep  down  under  the  water.  She  soon  rose  up  again, 
however,  and  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  stars  of  heaven 
were  falling  round  her  in  golden  showers.  Never  had 
she  seen  such  fireworks ;  great,  glittering  suns  wheeled 
by  her,  fiery  fishes  darted  through  the  blue  air,  and  all 
was  reflected  back  from  the  quiet  sea.  The  ship  was 
lighted  up  so  that  one  could  see  the  smallest  rope. 
How  handsome  the  young  prince  looked !  He  shook 
hands  with  everybody,  and  smiled,  as  the  music  rang 
out  into  the  glorious  night.  It  grew  late,  but  the 
little  mermaid  could  not  turn  her  eyes  away  from  the 
ship  and  the  handsome  prince." 

Once  more  Letty's  thought  wandered  from  the  page. 
She  too  would  have  watched  her  handsome  prince, 
no  matter  what  the  temptation  to  look  elsewhere. 

"The  colored  lanterns  were  put  out,  no  rocket  rose 
in  the  air,  no  cannon  boomed  from  the  portholes ;  but 
deep  below  there  was  a  surging  and  a  murmuring. 
The  mermaid  sat  still,  cradled  by  the  waves,  so  that 
she  could  look  in  at  the  cabin  window.  But  now  the 
ship  began  to  make  more  way.  One  sail  after  another 
was  unfurled ;  the  waves  rose  higher ;  clouds  gathered 
in  the  sky ;  and  there  was  a  distant  flash  of  lightning. 
The  storm  came  nearer.  All  the  sails  were  taken  in, 
and  the  ship  rocked  giddily,  as  she  flew  over  the  foam- 
ing billows ;  the  waves  rose  mountain-high,  as  if  they 
would  swallow  up  the  very  masts,  but  the  good  ship 
dived  like  a  swan  into  the  deep  black  trough,  and  rose 
bravely  to  the  foaming  crest.  The  little  mermaid 
thought  it  was  a  merry  journey,  but  the  sailors  were 

133 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

of  a  different  opinion.  The  ship  strained  and  creaked ; 
the  timbers  shivered  as  the  thunder  strokes  of  the 
waves  fell  fast ;  heavy  seas  swept  the  decks ;  the  main- 
mast snapped  like  a  reed ;  and  the  ship  lurched  heavily, 
while  the  water  rushed  into  the  hold.  Then  the  young 
princess  began  to  understand  the  danger,  and  she  her- 
self was  often  threatened  by  the  falling  masts,  yards, 
and  spars.  One  moment  it  was  so  dark  that  she  could 
see  nothing,  but  when  the  lightning  flamed  out  the  ship 
was  as  bright  as  day.  She  sought  for  the  young 
prince,  and  saw  him  sinking  down  through  the  water 
as  the  ship  parted.  The  sight  pleased  her,  for  she 
knew  he  must  sink  down  to  her  home.  But  suddenly 
she  remembered  that  men  cannot  live  in  the  water, 
and  that  he  would  only  reach  her  father's  palace  a 
lifeless  corpse.  No;  he  must  not  die!  She  swam  to 
and  fro  among  the  drifting  spars,  forgetting  that 
they  might  crush  her  with  their  weight ;  she  dived  and 
rose  again,  and  reached  the  prince  just  when  he  felt 
that  he  could  swim  no  longer  in  the  stormy  sea.  His 
arms  were  beginning  to  fail  him,  his  beautiful  eyes 
were  closed;  in  another  moment  he  must  have  sunk, 
had  not  the  little  mermaid  come  to  his  aid.  She  kept 
his  head  above  water,  and  let  the  waves  carry  them 
whither  they  would." 

Letty  didn't  want  Allerton's  life  to  be  in  danger, 
but  she  would  have  loved  saving  it.  She  fell  to  ponder- 
ing possible  conditions  in  which  she  could  perform 
this  feat,  while  he  ran  no  risk  whatever. 

"The  next  day  the  storm  was  over;  not  a  spar  of 
the  ship  was  left  in  sight.  The  sun  rose  red  and 
glowing  upon  the  waves,  and  seemed  to  pour  down 

134 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

new  life  upon  the  prince,  though  his  eyes  remained 
closed.  The  little  mermaid  kissed  his  fair  white  fore- 
head and  stroked  back  his  wet  hair.  He  was  like  the 
marble  statue  in  her  little  garden,  she  thought.  She 
kissed  him  again,  and  prayed  that  he  might  live." 

Letty  saw  herself  seated  somewhere  in  a  mead, 
Allerton  lying  unconscious  with  his  head  in  her  lap, 
though  the  circumstances  that  brought  them  so  to- 
gether remained  vague. 

"Suddenly  the  dry  land  came  in  sight  before  her, 
high  blue  mountains  on  whose  peaks  the  snow  lay 
white,  as  if  a  flock  of  swans  had  settled  there.  On 
the  coast  below  were  lovely  green  woods,  and  close 
on  shore  a  building  of  some  kind,  the  mermaid  didn't 
know  whether  it  was  church  or  cloister.  Citrons  and 
orange  trees  grew  in  the  garden,  and  before  the  porch 
were  stately  palm  trees.  The  sea  ran  in  here  and 
formed  a  quiet  bay,  unruffled,  but  very  deep.  The 
little  mermaid  swam  with  the  prince  to  the  white 
sandy  shore,  laid  him  on  the  warm  sand,  taking  care 
that  his  head  was  left  where  the  sun  shone  warmest. 
Bells  began  to  chime  and  ring  through  all  parts  of 
the  building,  and  several  young  girls  entered  the 
garden.  The  little  mermaid  swam  farther  out,  behind 
a  tiny  cliff  that  rose  above  the  waves.  She  showered 
sea-foam  on  her  hair  that  no  one  might  see  its  golden 
glory,  and  then  waited  patiently  to  see  if  anyone  would 
come  to  the  aid  of  the  young  prince." 

To  Letty  that  was  the  heart-breaking  part  of  the 
story,  the  leaving  the  beloved  one  to  others.  It  was 
what  she  and  the  little  mermaid  had  in  common,  unless 
she  too  could  get  rid  of  her  fish's  tail  at  the  cost  of 

135 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

walking  on  blades.    But  for  the  little  mermaid  there 
the  necessity  was,  as  she,  Letty  read  on. 

"Before  long  a  young  girl  came  by;  she  gave  a 
start  of  terror  and  ran  back  to  call  for  assistance. 
Several  people  came  to  her  aid,  and  after  a  while  the 
little  mermaid  saw  the  prince  recover  his  conscious- 
ness, and  smile  upon  the  group  around  him.  But  he 
had  no  smile  for  her ;  he  did  not  even  know  that  she 
had  saved  him.  Her  heart  sank,  and  when  she  had 
seen  him  carried  into  the  large  building,  she  dived 
sorrowfully  down  to  her  father's  palace." 

Lifting  her  eyes  to  meditate  on  this  situation  Letty 
saw  Allerton  standing  between  the  portieres.  Her 
dream  of  being  little  mermaid  to  his  prince  went  out 
like  a  pricked  bubble.  Though  he  neither  smiled  nor 
sneered  she  knew  he  was  amused  at  her,  with  a  bitter- 
ness in  his  amusement.  In  an  instant  she  saw  her 
transformation  as  it  must  appear  to  him.  She  had 
spent  his  money  recklessly,  and  made  herself  look 
ridiculous.  All  the  many  kinds  of  shame  she  had  ever 
known  focused  on  her  now,  making  her  a  glowing 
brand  of  humiliations.  She  stood  helpless.  Hans 
Andersen  dropped  to  the  floor  with  a  soft  thud. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  she  who  spoke  first. 

"I  suppose  you — you  think  it  funny  to  see  me 
rigged  up  like  this  ?" 

He  took  time  to  pick  up  the  book  she  had  dropped 
and  hand  it  back  to  her.    "Won't  you  sit  down  again  ?" 

While  she  seated  herself  and  he  followed  her  ex- 
ample she  continued  to  stammer  on.  "I — I  thought 
I  ought  to — ^to  look  proper  for  the  house  as  long  as 
I  was  in  it." 

136 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Her  phrasing  gave  him  an  opening.  "You're  quite 
right.  I  should  like  you  to  get  whatever  would  help 
you  in — in  your  profession  before  you — ^before  you 
leave  us," 

Quick  to  seize  the  implications  here  she  took  them 
with  the  submission  of  those  whose  lots  have  always 
depended  on  other  people's  wills. 

"I'll  go  whenever  you  want  me  to." 

Relieved  as  he  was  by  this  willingness  he  was 
anxious  not  to  seem  brutal.  "I'd — I'd  rather  you  con- 
sulted your  own  wishes  about  that." 

She  put  on  a  show  of  nonchalance.  "Oh,  I  don't 
care.    It'll  be  just — just  as  you  say  when." 

He  would  have  liked  to  say  when  at  that  instant,  but 
a  pretense  at  courtesy  had  to  be  maintained.  "There's 
no  hurry — for  a  day  or  two." 

"You  said  a  week  or  two  yesterday." 

"Oh,  did  I  ?  Well,  then,  we'll  say  a  week  or  two  now." 

"Oh,  not  for  me,"  she  hastened  to  assure  him. 
"I'd  just  as  soon  go  to-night." 

"Have  you  hated  it  as  much  as  that?" 

"I've  hated  some  of  it," 

"Ah,  well !    You  needn't  be  bothered  with  it  long." 

Her  candor  was  of  the  kind  which  asks  questions 
frankly.  "Haven't  you  got  any  more  use  for  me  ?" 

"I'm  afraid — "  it  was  not  easy  to  put  it  into  the 
right  words — "I'm  afraid  I  was  mistaken  yesterday. 
I  put  you  in — ^in  a  false  position  with  no  necessity  for 
doing  so." 

It  took  her  a  few  seconds  to  get  the  force  of  this. 
"Do  you  mean  that  you  didn't  need  me  to  be — to  be  a 
shame  and  a  disgrace  to  you  at  aU?" 

137 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Did  I  put  it  in  that  way?" 

**Well,  didn't  you?" 

The  fact  that  she  was  now  dressed  as  she  was 
made  it  more  embarrassing  to  him  to  be  crude  than 
it  had  been  when  addressing  the  homeless  and  shabby 
little  "drab." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  said  then.  I  was — I  was 
Upset." 

"And  you're  upset  very  easy,  ain't  you?"  She  cor- 
rected herself  quickly :  "aren't  you  ?" 

"I  suppose  that's  true.    What  of  it?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  I — I  just  happen  to  know  a  way 
you  can  get  over  that — if  you  want  to." 

He  smiled.  "I'm  afraid  my  nervousness  is  too 
deeply  seated — I  may  as  well  admit  that  I'm  nervous — 
you  saw  it  for  yourself " 

"Oh,  I  saw  you  was — ^you  were — sick  up  here — " 
she  touched  her  forehead— "as  soon  as  you  begun  to 
talk  to  me." 

Grateful  for  this  comprehension  he  tried  to  use  it  to 
his  advantage.  "So  that  you  understand  how  I  could 
go  off  the  hooks " 

"Sure!  My  mother'd  go  off  'em  the  least  little 
thing,  till — till  she  done — till  she  did — the  way  I  told 
her." 

"Then  some  of  these  days  I  may  ask  you  to — ^but 
just  now  perhaps  we'd  better  talk  about " 

"When  I'm  to  get  out." 

Her  bluntness  of  expression  hurt  him.  "That's 
not  the  way  I  should  have  put  it " 

"But  it's  the  way  you'd  *a'  meant,  isn't  it?" 

He  was  the  more  disconcerted  because  she  said  this 
138 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

gently,  with  the  same  longing  in  her  face  and  eyes  as 
in  that  of  the  little  mermaid  bending  over  the  uncon- 
scious prince. 

The  unconscious  prince  of  the  moment  merely  said : 
"You  mustn't  think  me  more  brutal  than  I  am " 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  you're  brutal.  You're  just  a 
little  dippy,  ain't — aren't — ^you?  But  that's  because 
you  let  yourself  go.  If  when  you  feel  it  comin'  on 
you'd  just — but  perhaps  you'd  rather  be  dippy. 
Would  you?" 

If  he  could  have  called  these  wide  goldstone  eyes 
with  their  tiny  flames  maternal  it  is  the  word  he 
would  have  chosen.  In  spite  of  the  difficulty  of  the 
minute  he  was  conscious  of  a  flicker  of  amusement. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  would,  but " 

"After  I'm  gone  shall  we — shall  we  stay  married?" 

This  being  the  real  question  he  was  glad  she  faced 
it  with  the  directness  which  gave  her  a  kind  of  charm. 
He  admitted  that.  She  had  the  charm  of  everything 
which  is  genuine  of  its  kind.  She  made  no  pretense. 
Her  expression,  her  voice,  her  lack  of  sophistication, 
all  had  the  limpidity  of  water.  He  felt  himself  thank- 
ing God  for  it.  "He  alone  knows  what  kind  of  hands 
I  might  have  fallen  into  yesterday,  crazy  fool  that  I 
am."  Of  this  child,  crude  as  she  was,  he  could  make 
his  own  disposition. 

So  in  answer  to  her  question  he  told  her  he  had 
seen  his  lawyer  in  the  afternoon — he  was  a  lawyer 
himself  but  he  didn't  practice — and  the  great  man  had 
explained  to  him  that  of  all  the  processes  known  to 
American  jurisprudence  the  retracing  of  such  steps 
as  they  had  taken  on  the  previous  day  was  one  of  the 
10  139 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

simplest.  What  the  law  had  joined  the  law  could  put 
asunder,  and  was  well  disposed  toward  doing  so. 
There  being  several  courses  which  they  could  adopt, 
he  put  them  before  her  one  by  one.  She  listened  with 
the  sort  of  attention  which  shows  the  mind  of  the 
listener  to  be  fixed  on  the  speaker,  rather  than  on  any- 
thing he  says.  Not  being  obliged  to  ask  questions  or 
to  make  answers  she  could  again  see  him  as  the  hand- 
some, dark-eyed  prince  whom  she  would  have  loved  to 
save  from  drowning  or  any  other  fate. 

Of  all  he  said  she  could  attach  a  meaning  to  but  one 
word:  "desertion."  Even  in  the  technical  marital 
sense  she  knew  vaguely  its  significance.  She  thought 
of  it  with  a  tightening  about  the  heart.  Any  desertion 
of  him  of  which  she  would  be  capable  would  be  like 
that  of  the  little  mermaid  when  she  dived  sorrowfully 
down  to  her  father's  palace,  leaving  him  with  those  to 
whom  he  belonged.  It  was  this  thought  which 
prompted  a  question  flung  in  among  his  observations, 
though  the  link  in  the  train  of  thought  was  barely 
traceable : 

"Is  she  takin*  you  back — ^the  girl  you  told  me  about 
yesterday?" 

He  looked  puzzled.  "Did  I  tell  you  about  a  girl 
yesterday?" 

"Why,  sure !    You  said  she  kicked  you  out " 

"Well,  she  hadn't.  I — I  didn't  know  I'd  gone  so 
far  as  to  say " 

"Oh,  you  went  a  lot  farther  than  that.  You  said 
you  were  goin'  to  the  devil.  Ain't  you?  I  mean, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"I — I  don't  seem  able  to." 
140 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"You're  the  first  fellow  I've  ever  heard  say  that." 

"I'm  the  first  fellow  I've  ever  heard  say  it  myself. 
But  I  tried  to-day — and  I  couldn't." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  tried  to  get  drunk." 

She  half  rose,  shrinking  away  from  him.  "Not — 
not  you!" 

"Yes.  Why  not?  I've  been  drtmk  before — not 
often,  but " 

"Don't  tell  me,"  she  cried,  hastily.  "I  don't  want  to 
know.    It's  too " 

"But  I  thought  it  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  vou'd 
be " 

"I'd  be  used  to.  So  it  is.  But  that's  the  reason. 
You're — you're  different.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of 
it — not  with  you." 

"But  I'm  just  like  any  other  man." 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "How  am  I — ^how  am 
I— different?" 

"Oh,  other  men  are  just  men,  and  you're  a — a.  kind 
of  prince." 

"You  wouldn't  think  so  if  you  were  to  know  me 
better." 

"But  I'm  not  goin'  to  know  you  better,  and  I'd 
rather  think  of  you  as  I  see  you  are."  She  dropped 
this  theme  to  say :   "So  the  other  girl " 

"She  didn't  mean  it  at  all." 

"She'd  be  crazy  if  she  did.  But  what  made  her  let 
you  think  so?" 

"She's — she's  simply  that  sort;  goes  off  the  hooks 
too." 

141 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"Oh !    So  there'll  be  a  pair  of  you." 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"That'll  be  bloody  murder,  won't  it?  Momma  was 
that  way  with  Judson  Flack.  Hammer  and  tongs — 
the  both  of  them — ^till  I  took  her  in  hand,  and " 

"And  what  happened  then?" 

"She  calmed  down  and — and  died." 

"So  that  it  didn't  do  her  much  good,  did  it?" 

"It  did  her  that  much  good  that  she  died.  Deatfi 
was  better  than  the  way  she  was  livin'  with  Judson 
Flack — and  it  wasn't  always  his  fault.  I  do'  wanta 
defend  him,  but  momma  got  so  that  if  he  did  have  a 
quiet  spell  she'd  go  and  stir  him  up.  There's  not  much 
hope  for  two  married  people  that  lives  like  that,  do 
you  think?" 

"But  you  say  your  mother,  under  your  instruction, 
got  over  it." 

"Yes,  but  it  was  too  late.  The  more  she  got  over  it 
the  more  he'd  lambaste  her,  and  when  her  money  was 
all  gone " 

"But  do  you  think  all— all  hot-tempered  couples 
have  to  go  it  in  that  way?" 

She  made  a  little  hunching  movement  of  the 
shoulders.  "It's  mostly  cat  and  dog  anyhow.  You 
and  her — ^the  other  girl — ^won't  be  much  worse  than 
others." 

"But  you  think  we'll  be  worse,  to  some  extent  at 
least." 

She  ignored  this  to  say,  wistfully:  "I  suppose 
you're  awful  fond  of  her." 

"I  think  I  can  say  as  much  as  that." 

"And  is  she  fond  of  you  ?" 
142 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"She  says  so." 

"If  she  is  I  don't  see  how  she  could — "  Her  voice 
trailed  away.  Her  eyes  forsook  his  face  to  roam  the 
shadows  of  the  room.  She  added  to  herself  rather 
than  to  him:    "I  couldn't  ha'  done  it  if  it  was  me." 

"Oh,  if  vou  were  in  love " 

The  eyes  wandered  back  from  the  shadows  to  rest 
on  him  again.  They  were  sorrowful  eyes,  and  un- 
abashed. A  child's  would  have  had  this  unreproach- 
ful  ache  in  them,  or  a  dog's.  Though  he  didn't  know 
what  it  meant  it  disturbed  him  into  leaving  his  sentence 
there. 

It  occurred  to  him  then  that  they  were  forgetting 
the  subject  in  hand.  He  had  not  expected  to  be  able 
to  converse  with  her,  yet  something  like  conversation 
had  been  taking  place.  It  had  come  to  him,  too,  that 
she  had  a  mind,  and  now  that  he  really  looked  at 
her  he  saw  that  the  face  was  intelligent.  Yesterday 
that  face  had  been  no  more  to  him  than  a  smudge, 
without  character,  and  almost  featureless,  while 
to-day.  .  .  . 

The  train  of  his  thought  being  twofold  he  could 
think  along  one  line,  and  speak  along  another.  "So  if 
you  go  to  see  my  lawyer  he'll  suggest  different  things 
that  you  could  do " 

"I'd  rather  do  whatever  'ud  make  it  easiest  for 
you." 

"You're  very  kind,  but  I  think  I'd  better  not  sug- 
gest. I'll  leave  that  to  him  and  you.  He  knows 
already  that  he's  to  supply  you  with  whatever  money 
you  need  for  the  present;  and  after  everything  is 
settled  I'll  see  that  you  have " 

143 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

The  damask  flush  which  Steptoe  had  admired  stole 
over  a  face  flooded  with  alarm.  She  spoke  as  she  rose, 
drawing  a  little  back  from  him.  "I  do'  want  any 
money." 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  protestation.  "Oh,  but  you 
must  take  it." 

She  was  still  drawing  back,  as  if  he  was  threaten- 
ing her  with  something  that  would  hurt.  "I  do* 
want  to." 

"But  it  was  part  of  our  bargain.  You  don't  under- 
stand that  I  couldn't " 

"I  didn't  make  no  such — "  She  checked  herself. 
Her  mother  had  rebuked  her  for  this  form  of  speech 
a  thousand  times.  She  said  the  sentence  over  as  she 
felt  he  would  have  said  it,  as  the  people  would  have 
said  it  among  whom  she  had  lived  as  a  child.  The 
cadence  of  his  speech,  the  half  forgotten  cadences  of 
theirs,  helped  her  ear  and  her  intuitions.  "I  didn't 
make  any  such  bargain,"  she  managed  to  bring  out, 
at  last.  "You  said  you'd  give  me  money ;  but  I  never 
said  I'd  take  it." 

He  too  rose.  He  began  to  feel  troubled.  Perhaps 
she  wouldn't  be  at  his  disposition  after  all.  "But — 
but  I  couldn't  stand  it  if  you  didn't  let  me " 

"And  I  couldn't  stand  it  if  I  did." 

"But  that's  not  reasonable.  It's  part  of  the  whole 
thing  that  I  should  look  out  for  your  future  after 
what " 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  declared,  tremblingly. 
"You  think  that  because  I'm — I'm  beneath  you  that 
I  ain't  got— that  I  haven't  got — no  sense  of  what  a 
girl  should  do  and  what  she  shouldn't  do.    But  you're 

144 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

wrong.  Do  you  suppose  I  didn't  know  all  about  how 
crazy  it  was  when  I  went  with  you  yesterday?  Of 
course  I  did.    I  was  as  much  to  blame  as  you." 

"Oh,  no,  you  weren't.  Apart  from  your  being  what 
you  call  beneath  me — ^and  I  don't  admit  that  you  are — 
I'm  a  great  deal  older  than  you " 

"You're  only  older  in  years.  In  livin'  I'm  twice 
your  age.  Besides  I'm  all  right  here — "  she  touched 
her  forehead  again — "and  I  could  see  first  thing  that 
you  was  a  fellow  that  needed  to  be  took — to  be  taken — 
care  of." 

"Oh,  you  did!" 

She  strengthened  her  statement  with  an  affirmative 
nod.    "Yes,  I  did." 

"Well,  then,  I've  always  paid  the  people  who've 
taken  care  of  me " 

"Oh,  but  you  didn't  ask  me  to  take  care  of  you,  and 
I  didn't  take  no  care.  You  wanted  me  to  be  a  disgrace 
to  you,  and  I  thought  so  little  of  myself  that  I  said  I'd 
go  and  be  it.  Now  I've  got  to  pay  for  that,  not  be 
paid  for  :t." 

Her  heaa  was  up  with  what  Steptoe  considered  to 
be  mettle.  Though  the  picture  she  presented  was 
stamped  on  his  mind  as  resemblin,^  the  prcid  mien  of 
the  girl  in  Whistler's  Yel'-w  Buskin,  he  didn't  think 
of  that  till  later. 

"There's  one  thing  I  must  ask  you  to  remember,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  he  tried  to  make  firm,  "that  I  couldn't 
possibly  accept  from  you  anything  in  the  way  of 
sacrifice." 

Her  eyes  were  wide  and  earnest.  "But  I  never 
thought  of  makin*  anything  in  the  way  of  sacrifice." 

145 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"It  would  be  sacrifice  for  you  to  help  me  get  out  of 
this  scrape,  and  have  nothing  at  all  to  the  good." 

"But  I'd  have  lots  to  the  good."  She  reflected. 
"I'd  have  rememberin'." 

"What  have  you  got  to  remember?" 

With  her  child's  lack  of  self-consciousness  she 
looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "You — for  one 
thing." 

"Me !"  He  had  hardly  the  words  for  his  amaze- 
ment. "For  heaven's  sake,  what  can  you  have  to 
remember  about  me  that — ^that  could  give  you  any 
pleasure  ?" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  it  would  give  me  any  pleasure. 
I  said  I'd  have  it.  It'd  be  mine — something  no  one 
couldn't  take  away  from  me." 

"But  if  it  doesn't  do  you  any  good ** 

"It  does  me  good  if  it  makes  me  richer,  don't  it?" 

"Richer  to— to  remember  me?" 

She  nodded,  with  a  little  twisted  smile,  beginning  to 
move  toward  the  door.  Over  her  shoulder  she  vsaid: 
"And  it  isn't  only  you.  There's — ^there's  Steptoe." 


Chapter  XIII 

MAKING  her  nod  suffice  for  a  good-night,  Letty, 
with  the  red  volume  of  Hans  Andersen  under 
her  arm,  passed  out  into  the  hall.  It  was  not  easy  to 
carry  herself  with  the  necessary  nonchalance,  but  she 
got  strength  by  saying  inwardly:  "Here's  where  I 
begin  to  walk  on  blades."  The  knowledge  that  she 
was  doing  it,  and  that  she  was  doing  it  toward  an 
end,  gave  her  a  dignity  of  carriage  which  Allerton 
watched  with  sharpened  observation. 

Reaching  the  little  back  spare  room  she  found  the 
door  open,  and  Steptoe  sweeping  up  the  hearth  before  a 
newly  lighted  fire.  Beppo,  whose  basket  had  been 
established  here,  jumped  from  his  shelter  to  paw  up 
at  her  caressingly.  With  the  hearth-brush  in  his  hand 
Steptoe  raised  himself  to  say : 

"Madam'll  excuse  me,  but  I  thought  as  the  evenin' 
was  chilly " 

*'He  doesn't  want  me  to  stay." 

She  brought  out  the  fact  abruptly,  lifelessly,  be- 
cause she  couldn't  keep  it  back.  The  calm  she 
had  been  able  to  maintain  downstairs  was  breaking 
up,  with  a  quivering  of  the  lip  and  two  rolling 
tears. 

Slowly  and  absently  Steptoe  dusted  his  left  hand 
with  the  hearth-brush  held  in  his  right.  "If  madam's 
goin'  to  decide  'er  life  by  what  another  person  wants 
she  ain't  never  goin'  to  get  nowhere." 

147 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

There  were  tears  now  in  :he  voice.  "Yes,  but  when 
it's — him." 

"  'Im  or  anybody  else,  we  all  'ave  to  fight  for  what 
we  means  to  myke  of  our  own  life.    It's  a  poor  gyme 
in  which  I  don't  plye  my  'and  for  ill  I  think  it'll  win." 
"Do  you  mean  that  I  should — ^act  independent  ?'* 
"  'Aven't  madam  an  independent  life  ?" 
"Havin*  an  independent  life  don't  make  it  easier  to 
stay  where  you're  not  wanted." 

"Oh,  if  madam's  lookin'  first  for  what's  easy " 

"I'm  not.  I'm  lookin'  first  for  what  he'll  like/' 
Hanging  the  hearth-brush  in  its  place  he  took  the 
tongs  to  adjust  a  smoking  log.  "I've  been  lookin'  for 
what  'e'd  like  ever  since  *e  was  born ;  and  now  I  see 
that  gettin'  so  much  of  what  *e  liked  'asn't  been  good  for 
^m.    If  madam'd  strike  out  on  'er  own  line,  whether  'e 

liked  it  or  not,  and  keep  at  it  till  'e  'ad  to  like  it " 

"Oh,  but  when  it's — "  she  sought  for  the  right 

word — "when  it's  so  humiliatin' " 

"Humiliatin'  things  is  not  so  'ard  to  bear,  once 
you've  myde  up  your  mind  as  they're  to  be  borne." 
He  put  up  the  tongs,  to  busy  himself  with  the  poker. 
"Madam'll  find  that  humiliation  is  a  good  deal  like  that 
there  quinine;  bitter  to  the  tyste,  but  strengthenin'. 
IVe  swallered  lots  of  it ;  and  look  at  me  to-dye." 
"I  know  as  well  as  he  does  that  it's  all  been  a  crazy 

mistake " 

"I  was  readin'  the  other  day — I'm  fond  of  a  good 
book,  I  am — occupies  the  mind  like — ^but  I  was  readin* 
about  a  circus  man  in  South  Africa,  what  'e  myde  a 
mistyke  and  took  the  wrong  tryle — and  just  when  'e 
was  a-givin'  'imself  up  for  lost  among  the  tigers  and 

148 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

the  colored  savages  'e  found  'e'd  tumbled  on  a  mine  of 
diamonds.  Big  *ouse  in  Park  L5nie  in  London  now, 
and  'is  daughter  married  to  a  Lord." 

"Oh,  I've  tumbled  into  the  mine  of  diamonds  all 
right.    The  question  is " 

"If  madam  really  tumbled,  or  was  led  by  the  'and 
of  Providence." 

She  laughed,  ruefully.  "If  that  was  it  the  hand  of 
Providence  'd  have  to  have  some  pretty  funny  ways." 

"I've  often  'eard  as  the  wyes  of  Providence  was 
strynge;  but  I  ain't  so  often  'eard  as  Providence  *ad 
got  to  myke  'em  strynge  to  keep  pyce  with  the  wyes 
of  men.  Now  if  the  'and  of  Providence  'ad  picked 
out  madam  for  Mr.  Rash,  it'd  'ave  to  do  somethink 
out  of  the  common,  as  you  might  sye,  to  bring  to- 
gether them  as  man  had  put  so  far  apart."  He  looked 
round  the  room  with  the  eye  of  a  head-waiter  inspect- 
ing a  table  in  a  restaurant.  "Madam  'as  everythink  ? 
Well,  if  there's  anythink  else  she's  only  got  to  ring." 

Bowing  himself  out  he  went  down  the  stairs  to 
attend  to  those  duties  of  the  evening  which  followed 
the  return  of  the  master  of  the  house.  In  the  library 
and  dining-room  he  saw  to  the  window  fastenings, 
and  put  out  the  one  light  left  burning  in  each  room. 
In  the  hall  he  locked  the  door  with  the  complicated 
locks  which  had  helped  to  guarantee  the  late  Mrs. 
Allerton  against  burglars.  There  was  not  only  a  bolt, 
a  chain,  and  an  ordinary  lock,  but  there  was  an  inge- 
nious double  lock  which  turned  the  wrong  way  when 
you  thought  you  were  turning  it  the  right,  and  could 
otherwise  baffle  the  unskilful.  Occupied  with  this  task 
he  could  peep  over  his  shoulder,  through  the  unlighted 

149 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

front  drawing-room,  and  see  his  adored  one  standing 
on  the  hearthrug,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  and 
his  head  bent,  in  an  attitude  of  meditation. 

Steptoe,  having  much  to  say  to  him,  felt  the  nerv- 
ousness of  a  prime  minister  going  into  the  presence 
of  a  sovereign  who  might  or  might  not  approve  his 
acts.  It  was  at  once  the  weakness  and  the  strength  of 
his  position  that  his  rule  was  based  on  an  unwritten 
constitution.  Being  unwritten  it  allowed  of  a  border- 
land where  powers  were  undefined.  Powers  being 
undefined  his  scope  was  the  more  easily  enlarged, 
though  now  and  then  he  found  that  the  sovereign  re- 
belled against  the  mayor  of  the  palace  and  had  to  be 
allowed  his  way. 

But  the  sovereign  was  nursing  no  seeds  of  the  kind 
of  discontent  which  Steptoe  was  afraid  of.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  was  thinking  of  the  way  in  which 
Letty  had  left  the  room.  The  perspective,  the  tea- 
gown,  the  eflfectively  dressed  hair,  enabled  him  to  per- 
ceive the  combination  of  results  which  Madame 
Simone  had  called  de  Velegance  naturelle.  She  had 
that ;  he  could  see  It  as  he  hadn't  seen  it  hitherto.  It 
must  have  given  what  value  there  was  to  her  poor 
little  roles  in  motion  pictures.  Now  that  his  eye  had 
caught  it,  it  surprised,  and  to  some  degree  disturbed, 
him.  It  was  more  than  the  show-girl's  inane  pretti- 
ness,  or  the  comely  wax-work  face  of  the  girl  on  the 
cover  of  a  magazine.  With  due  allowance  for  her 
Anglo- Saxonism  and  honesty,  she  was  the  type  of 
woman  to  whom  "things  happen."  Things  would 
happen  to  fier,  Allerton  surmised,  beyond  anything  she 
could  experience  in  his  cumbrous  and  antiquated  house. 

150 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

This  queer  episode  would  drop  behind  her  as  an  epi- 
sode and  no  more,  and  in  the  multitude  of  future  inci- 
dents she  would  almost  forget  that  she  had  known  him. 
He  hoped  to  God  that  it  would  be  so,  and  yet.  .  ,  . 

He  was  noting  too  that  she  hadn't  taxed  him,  in 
the  way  of  calling  on  his  small  supply  of  nervous 
energy.  Rather  she  had  spared  it,  and  he  felt  himself 
rested.  After  a  talk  with  Barbara  he  was  always 
spent.  Her  emotional  furies  demanded  so  much  of 
him  that  they  used  him  up.  This  girl,  on  the  contrary, 
was  soothing.  He  didn't  know  how  she  was  sooth- 
ing; but  she  was.  He  couldn't  remember  when  he  had 
talked  to  a  woman  with  so  little  thought  of  what  he 
was  to  say  and  how  he  was  to  say  it,  and  heaven  only 
knew  that  the  things  to  be  said  between  them  were 
nerve-racking  enough.  But  they  had  come  out  of  their 
own  accord,  those  nerve-racking  things,  probably,  he 
reasoned,  because  she  was  a  girl  of  inferior  class  with 
whom  he  didn't  have  to  be  particular. 

She  was  quick,  too,  to  catch  the  difference  between 
his  speech  and  her  own.  She  was  quick — and  pathetic. 
Her  self-correction  amused  him,  with  a  strain  of  pity 
in  his  amusement.  If  a  girl  like  that  had  only  had  a 
chance.  .  .  .  And  just  then  Steptoe  broke  in  on  his 
musing  by  entering  the  room. 

The  first  subject  to  be  aired  was  that  of  the  changes 
in  the  household  staff,  and  Steptoe  raised  it  diplo- 
matically. Mrs.  Courage  and  Jane  had  taken  offense 
at  the  young  lydy's  presence,  and  packed  themselves 
off  in  dishonorable  haste.  Had  it  not  been  that  two 
men  friends  of  his  own  were  ready  to  come  at  an 
hour's  notice  the  house  would  have  been  servantless 

151 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

tin  he  had  procured  strangers.  No  condemnation 
could  be  too  severe  for  Mrs.  Courage  and  Jane,  for 
not  content  with  leaving  the  house  in  dudgeon  they 
had  insulted  the  young  lydy  before  they  went. 

"Sooner  or  lyter  they  would  'a'  went  any'ow.  For 
this  long  time  back  they've  been  too  big  for  their 
boots,  as  you  might  sye.  If  Mr.  Rash  'ad  married 
the  other  young  lydy  she  wouldn't  'a'  stood  'em  a 
week.  It  don't  do  to  keep  servants  too  long,  not 
when  they've  got  no  more  than  a  menial  mind,  which 
Jjmie  and  Mrs.  Courage  'aven't.  The  minute  they 
*eard  that  this  young  lydy  was  in  the  'ouse.  .  .  .  And 
beautiful  the  wye  she  took  it,  Mr.  Rash.  I  never  see 
nothink  finer  on  the  styge  nor  in  the  movin'  pictures. 
Like  a  young  queen  she  was,  a-tellin'  'em  that  she 
*adn't  come  to  this  'ouse  to  turn  out  of  it  them  as  'ad 
*ad  it  as  their  *ome,  like,  and  that  she'd  put  it  up  to 
them.  If  they  went  she'd  stye ;  but  if  they  styed  she'd 
go 

"She's  going  anyhow." 

Steptoe  moved  away  to  feel  the  fastenings  of  the 
back  windows.  "That'll  be  a  relief  to  us,  sir,  won't 
it?"  he  said,  without  turning  his  head. 

"It'll  make  things  easier — certainly." 

"I  was  just  *opin'  that  it  mightn't  be — ^well,  not  too 
soon." 

**What  do  you  mean  by  too  soon?" 

"Well,  sir,  I've  been  thinkin'  it  over  through  the 
dye,  just  as  you  told  me  to  do  this  mornin,'  and  I 
figger  out — "  on  a  table  near  him  he  began  to  arrange 
the  disordered  books  and  magazines — "I  figger  out 
that  if  she  was  to  go  it'd  better  be  in  a  wye  agreeable 

152 


[THE   DUST   FLOWER 

to  all  concerned.  It  wouldn't  do,  I  syes  to  myself,  for 
Mr.  Rash  to  bring  a  young  woman  into  this  'ouse 
and  'ave  *er  go  awye  feelin'  anythink  but  glad  she'd 
come." 

"That'll  be  some  job." 

"It'll  be  some  job,  sir;  but  it'll  be  worth  it.  It 
ain*t  only  on  the  young  lydy's  account ;  it'll  be  on  Mr. 
Rash's." 

"On  Mr.  Rash's— how?" 

The  magazines  lapping  over  each  other  in  two  long 
lines,  he  straightened  them  with  little  pats.  "What  I 
suppose  you  mean  to  do,  sir,  is  to  get  out  o'  this 
matrimony  and  enter  into  the  other  as  you  thought  as 
you  wasn't  goin'  to  enter  into." 

"Well?" 

"And  when  you'd  entered  into  the  other  you 
wouldn't  want  it  on  your  mind — on  your  conscience, 
as  you  might  sye — ^that  there  was  a  young  lydy  in  the 
world  as  you'd  done  a  kind  o*  wrong  to." 

Allerton  took  three  strides  across  the  comer  of  the 
room,  and  three  strides  back  to  the  fireplace  again. 
"How  am  I  going  to  escape  that  ?  She  says  she  won't 
let  me  give  her  any  money." 

"Oh,  money!"  Steptoe  brushed  money  aside  as  if 
it  had  no  value.  "She  wouldn't  of  course.  Not  *er 
sort." 

**But  what  ts  'er  sort.  She  seemed  one  thing  yester- 
day, and  to-day  she's  another." 

"That's  somethink  like  what  I  mean.  That  young 
lydy  'as  growed  more  in  twenty- four  hours  than  lots'd 
grow  in  twenty-four  years."  He  considered  how  best 
to  express  himself  further.     "Did  Mr.  Rash  ever 

153 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

notice  that  it  isn't  bein'  born  of  a  certain  kind  o* 
family  as'U  myke  a  man  a  gentleman?  Of  course  'e 
did.  But  did  'e  ever  notice  that  a  man'U  often  not 
be  born  of  a  certain  kind  o'  family,  and  yet  be  a 
gentleman  all  the  syme?" 

"I  know  what  you're  driving  at ;  but  it  depends  on 
what  you  mean  by  a  gentleman." 

"And  I  couldn't  'ardly  sye — not  no  more  than  I 
could  tell  you  what  the  smell  of  a  flower  was,  not  even 
while  you  was  a-smellin'  of  it.  You  know  a  gentle- 
man's a  gentleman,  and  you  may  think  it's  this  or  that 
what  mykes  *im  so,  but  there  ain't  no  wye  to  put  it 
into  words.  Now  you,  Mr.  Rash,  anybody'd  know 
you  was  a  gentleman  what  merely  looked  at  you 
through  a  telescope ;  but  you  couldn't  explyne  it,  not 
if  you  was  took  all  to  pieces  like  the  works  of  a  clock. 
It  ain't  nothink  you  do  and  nothink  you  sye,  because 
if  we  was  to  go  by  that " 

"Good  Lord,  stop!    We're  not  talking  about  me." 

"No,  Mr.  Rash.  We're  talkin'  about  the  queer  thing 
it  is  what  mykes  a  gentleman,  and  I  sye  that  I  can't 
sye.  But  I  know.  Now,  tyke  Eugene.  'E's  just  a 
chauflFeur.  But  no  one  couldn't  be  ten  minutes  with 
Eugene  and  not  know  *e's  a  gentleman  through  and 
through.  Obligin* — good-mannered — modest — ^polite 
to  the  very  cat  'e  is — ^and  always  with  that  nice  smile 
— ^wouldn't  you  sye  as  Eugene  was  a  gentleman,  if 
anybody  was  to  arsk  you,  Mr.  Rash?" 

"If  they  asked  me  from  that  point  of  view — ^yes — 
probably.    But  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"It  'as  this  to  do  with  it  that  when  you  arsk  me 
what  sort  that  young  lydy  is  I  'ave  to  reply  as  she's 

154 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

not  the  sort  to  accept  money  from  strynge  gentlemen, 
because  it  ain't  what  she's  after." 

"Then  what  on  earth  is  she  after?  Whatever  it 
is  she  can  have  it,  if  I  can  only  find  out  what  it  is." 

Steptoe  answered  this  in  his  own  way.  "It's  very 
*ard  for  the  poor  to  see  so  much  that's  good  and  beau- 
tiful in  the  world,  and  know  that  they  can't  'ave  none 
of  it.  I  felt  that  myself  before  I  worked  up  to  where 
I  am  now.  'Ere  in  New  York  a  poor  boy  or  a  poor 
girl  can't  go  out  into  the  street  without  seein*  the 
things  they're  cryvin'  for  in  their  insides  flaunted 
at  'em  like — shook  in  their  fyces — ^while  the  law 
and  the  police  and  the  church  and  everythink  what 
mykes  our  life  says  to  *em,  'There's  none  o'  this  for 
you.' " 

"Well,  money  would  buy  it,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Money 'd  buy  it  if  money  knew  what  to  buy.  But 
it  don't.  Mr.  Rash  must  'ave  noticed  that  there's 
nothink  'elplesser  than  the  people  with  money  what 
don't  know  'ow  to  spend  it.  I  used  to  be  that  wye 
myself  when  I'd  'ave  a  little  cash,  I  wouldn't  know 
what  to  blow  myself  to  what  wouldn't  be  like  them 
vulgar  new-rich.  But  the  new-rich  is  vulgar  only 
because  our  life  'as  put  the  'orse  before  the  cart  with 
'em,  as  you  might  sye,  in  givin'  them  the  money 
before  showin'  'em  what  to  do  with  it." 

Having  straightened  the  lines  of  magazines  to  the 
last  fraction  of  an  inch  he  found  a  further  excuse  for 
lingering  by  moving  back  into  their  accustomed  places 
the  chairs  which  had  been  disarranged. 

"You  'ave  to  get  the  s)mie  kind  of  'ang  of  things 
as  you  and  me've  got,  Mr.  Rash,  to  know  what  it  is 

11  155 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

you  want,  and  'ow  to  spend  your  money  wise  like. 
Pleasure  isn't  just  in  'avin'  things;  it's  in  knowin* 
what's  good  to  'ave  and  what  ain't.  Now  this  young 
lydy'd  be  like  a  child  with  a  dime  sent  into  a  ten-cent 
store  to  buy  whatever  'e'd  like.  There's  so  many 
things,  and  all  the  syme  price,  that  'e's  kind  of  con- 
fused like.  First  'e  thinks  it'll  be  one  thing,  and  then 
*e  thinks  it'll  be  another,  and  'e  ends  by  tykin'  the 
wrong  thing,  because  'e  didn't  'ave  nothink  to  tell 
*im  'ow  to  choose.  Mr.  Rash  wouldn't  want  a  young 
lydy  to  whom  'e's  indebted,  as  you  might  sye,  to  be 
Hke  that,  now  would  'e  ?" 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  I've  got  an)i:hing  to  do 
with  it.  If  I  offer  her  the  money,  and  can  get  her  to 
take  it " 

**That's  where  she  strikes  me  as  wiser  than  Mr. 
Rash,  for  all  she  don't  know  but  so  little.  That  much 
she  knows  by  hinstinck." 

"Then  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?" 

"That'd  be  for  Mr.  Rash  to  sye.  If  it  was  me " 

The  necessity  for  getting  an  armchair  exactly  be- 
neath a  portrait  seemed  to  cut  this  sentence  short. 

"Well,  if  it  was  you — ^what  then?" 

"Before  I'd  give  'er  money  I'd  teach  *er  the  *ang 
of  our  kind  o'  life,  like.  That's  what  she's  aichin' 
and  cryvin'  for.  A  bom  lydy  she  is,  and  'ankerin' 
after  a  lydy's  wyes,  and  with  no  one  to  learn  *em  to 
'er " 

"But,  good  heavens,  I  can't  do  that." 

"No,  Mr.  Rash,  but  I  could,  if  you  was  to  leave  'er 
'ere  for  a  bit.  I  could  learn  'er  to  be  a  lydy  in  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks,  and  'er  so  quick  to  pick  up. 

156 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Then  if  you  was  to  settle  a  little  hincome  on  *er  she 
wouldn't " 

Allerton  took  the  bull  by  the  horns.  "She  wouldn't 
be  so  likely  to  go  to  the  bad.  That's  what  you  mean, 
isn't  it?" 

Moving  behind  Allerton,  who  continued  to  stand  on 
the  hearthrug,  Steptoe  began  poking  the  embers,  mak- 
ing them  safe  for  the  night. 

"Did  Mr.  Rash  ever  notice  that  goin'  to  the  bad,  as 
'e  calls  it,  ain't  the  syme  for  them  as  'ave  nothink  as 
it  looks  to  them  as  'ave  everythink?  When  you're 
*\mgry  for  food  you  heats  the  first  thing  you  can  lie 
your  'ands  on;  and  when  you're  'ungry  for  life  you 
do  the  first  thing  as'll  promise  you  the  good  you're 
lookin'  for.  What  people  like  you  and  me  is  hapt 
to  call  goin*  to  the  bad  ain't  mostly  no  more  than 
a  'ankerin'  for  good  which  nothink  don't  seem  to 
feed." 

Allerton  smiled.  "That  sounds  to  me  as  if  it  might 
be  dangerous  doctrine." 

"What  excuses  the  poor'U  often  seem  d)nigerous 
doctrine  to  the  rich,  Mr.  Rash.  Our  kind  is  awful 
afryde  of  their  kind  gettin'  a  little  bit  of  what  they're 
longin'  for,  and  especially  'ere  in  America.  When 
we've  took  from  them  most  of  the  means  of  'aving  a 
little  pleasure  lawful,  we  call  it  dyngerous  if  they  tyke 
it  unlawful  like,  and  we  go  to  work  and  pass  laws 
agynst  them.  Protectin'  them  agynst  theirselves  we 
sye  it  is,  and  we  go  at  it  with  a  gun." 

"But  we're  talking  of " 

"Of  the  young  lydy,  sir.  Quite  so.  It's  on  *er 
account  as  I'm  syin'  what  I'm  s)rin'.    You  arsk  me  if 

157 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

I  think  she'll  go  to  the  bad  in  cyse  we  turn  'er  out,  and 
I  sye  that " 

AUerton  started.  "There's  no  question  of  our  turn- 
ing her  out.    She's  sick  of  it." 

"Then  that'd  be  my  point,  wouldn't  it,  sir?  If 
she  goes  because  she's  sick  of  it,  why,  then,  natural 
like,  she'll  look  somewhere  else  for  what — for  what 
she  didn't  find  with  us.  You  may  call  it  goin'  to  the 
bad,  but  it'll  be  no  more  than  tryin'  to  find  in  a  wrong 
wye  what  life  'as  denied  'er  in  a  right  one." 

Allerton,  who  had  never  in  his  life  been  asked  to 
bear  moral  responsibility,  was  uneasy  at  this  phi- 
losophy, changing  the  subject  abruptly. 

"Where  did  she  get  the  clothes?" 

"Me  and  'er,  Mr.  Rash,  went  to  Margot's  this 
mornin*  and  bought  a  bunch  of  'em." 

"The  deuce  you  did !    And  you  used  my  name  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  Steptoe  returned,  with  dignity,  "I  used 
mine.  I  didn't  give  no  'andle  to  gossip.  I  pyde  for 
the  things  out  o*  some  money  I  'ad  in  'and — ^my  own 
money,  Mr.  Rash — ^and  *ad  'em  all  sent  to  me.  I 
thought  as  we  was  mykin'  a  mistyke  the  young  lydy'd 
better  look  proper  while  we  was  mykin'  it;  and  I 
knew  Mr.  Rash'd  feel  the  S)mie." 

The  situation  was  that  in  which  the  faineant  king 
accepts  the  act  of  the  mayor  of  the  palace  because  it 
is  Hobson's  choice.  Moreover,  he  was  willing  that 
she  should  have  the  clothes.  If  she  wouldn't  take 
money  she  would  at  least  apparently  take  them,  which, 
in  a  measure,  would  amount  to  the  same  thing.  He 
was  Swelling  on  this  bit  of  satisfaction  when  Steptoe 
continued. 

158 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"And  as  long  as  the  young  lydy  rera)mes  with  us, 
Mr.  Rash,  I  thought  it'd  be  discreeter  Hke  not  to  'ave 
no  more  women  pokin'  about,  and  tryin'  to  find  out 
what  'ad  better  not  be  known.  It  mykes  it  simpkr 
as  she  'erself  arsks  to  be  called  Miss  Gravely " 

"Oh,  she  does?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  that's  what  I've  told  William  and 
Golightly,  the  waiter  and  the  chef,  is  'er  nyme.  It 
mykes  it  all  plyne  to  'em " 

"Plain?    Why,  they'll  think " 

"No,  sir.  They  won't  think.  When  it  comes  to 
what's  no  one's  business  but  your  own  women  thinks ; 
men  just  haccepts.  They  tykes  things  for  granted, 
and  don't  feel  it  none  of  their  affair.  Mr.  Rash'll  'ave 
noticed  that  there's  a  different  kind  of  honor  among 
women  from  what  there  is  among  men.  I  don't  sye 
but  what  the  women's  is  all  right,  only  the  men's  is 
easier  to  get  on  with." 

There  being  no  response  to  these  observations  Step- 
toe  made  re-ady  to  withdraw.  "And  shall  you  stye 
'ome  for  breakfast,  sir  ?" 

"I'll  see  in  the  morning." 

"Very  good,  sir.  I've  locked  up  the  'ouse  and  seen 
to  everythink,  if  you'll  switch  off  the  lights  as  you 
come  up.    Good-night,  Mr.  Rash." 

"Good-night." 


Chapter  XIV 

WHILE  this  conversation  was  taking  place  Letty, 
in  the  back  spare  room,  was  conducting  a  cere- 
monial too  poignant  for  tears.  There  were  tears  in 
her  heart,  but  her  eyes  only  smarted. 

Taking  off  the  blue-black  tea-gown,  she  clasped  it 
in  her  arms  and  kissed  it.  Then,  on  one  of  the  padded 
silk  hangers,  she  hung  it  far  in  the  depths  of  the 
closet,  where  it  wouldn't  scorch  her  sight  in  the 
morning. 

Next  she  arrayed  herself  in  a  filmy  breakfast  thing, 
white  with  a  copper-colored  sash  matching  some  of 
the  tones  in  her  hair  and  eyes,  and  simple  with  an 
angelic  simplicity.  Standing  before  the  long  mirror 
she  surveyed  herself  mournfully.  But  this  robe  too 
she  took  off,  kissed,  and  laid  away. 

Lastly  she  put  on  the  blue-green  costume,  with  the 
turquoise  and  jade  embroidery.  She  put  on  also  the 
hat  with  the  feather  which  shaded  itself  from  green 
into  monkshood  blue.  She  put  on  a  veil,  and  a  pair  of 
white  gloves.  For  once  she  would  look  as  well  as  she 
was  capable  of  looking,  though  no  one  should  see  her 
but  herself. 

Viewing  her  reflection  she  grew  frightened.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  seen  her  personal  potenti- 
alities. She  had  long  known  that  with  "half  a  chance" 
she  could  emerge  from  the  cocoon  stage  of  the  old 
gray  rag  and  be  at  least  the  equal  of  the  average ;  but 

i6o 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

she  hadn't  expected  so  radical  a  change.  She  was 
not  the  same  Letty  Gravely.  She  didn't  know  what 
she  was,  since  she  was  neither  a  "star"  nor  a  "lady," 
the  two  degrees  of  elevation  of  which  she  had  had 
experience.  All  she  could  feel  was  that  with  the  ad- 
vantages here  presented  she  had  the  capacity  to  be 
either.  Since,  apparently,  the  becoming  a  lady  was 
now  excluded  from  her  choice  of  careers,  "stardom" 
would  still  have  been  within  her  reach,  only  that  she 
was  not  to  get  the  necessary  "half  a  chance."  That 
was  the  bitter  truth  of  it.  That  was  to  be  the  result 
of  her  walking  on  blades.  All  the  same,  as  walking  on 
blades  would  help  her  prince  she  was  resolved  to  walk 
on  them.  For  her  mother's  sake,  even  for  Judson 
Flack's,  she  had  done  things  nearly  as  hard,  when  she 
had  not  had  this  incentive. 

The  incentive  nerved  her  to  take  off  the  blue-green 
costume,  kissing  it  a  last  farewell,  and  laying  It  to 
rest,  as  a  mother  a  dead  baby  in  its  coffin.  Into  the 
closet  went  the  bits  of  lingerie  from  the  consignment 
just  arrived  from  Paris,  and  the  other  spoils  of  the 
day.  When  everything  was  buried  she  shut  the  door 
upon  it,  as  in  her  heart  she  was  shutting  the  door  on 
her  poor  little  fledgling  hopes.  Nothing  remained  to 
torment  her  vision,  or  distract  her  from  what  she  had 
to  do.  The  old  gray  rag  and  the  battered  black  hat 
were  all  she  had  now  to  deal  with. 

She  slept  little  that  night,  since  she  was  watching 
not  for  daylight  but  for  that  first  stirring  in  the 
streets  which  tells  that  daylight  is  approaching.  Hav- 
ing neither  watch  nor  clock  the  stirring  was  all  she 
had  to  go  by.    When  it  began  to  rumble  and  creak 

i6i 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

and  throb  faintly  in  and  above  the  town  she  got  up 
and  dressed. 

So  far  had  she  travelled  in  less  than  forty-eight 
hours  that  the  old  gray  rag,  and  not  the  blue-green 
costume,  was  now  the  disguise.  In  other  words,  once 
having  tasted  the  prosperous  she  had  found  it  the 
natural.  To  go  back  to  poverty  was  not  merely  hard ; 
it  was  contrary  to  all  spontaneous  dictates.  Dimly 
she  had  supposed  that  in  reverting  to  the  harness  she 
had  worn  she  would  find  herself  again ;  but  she  only 
discovered  that  she  was  more  than  ever  lost. 

Very  softly  she  unlocked  her  door  to  peep  out  at 
the  landing.  The  house  was  ghostly  and  still,  but  it 
was  another  sign  of  her  development  that  she  was  no 
longer  afraid  of  it.  Space  too  had  become  natural, 
while  dignity  of  setting  had  seemed  to  belong  to  her 
ever  since  she  was  bom.  Turning  her  back  on  these 
conditions  was  far  more  like  turning  her  back  on  home 
than  it  had  been  when  she  walked  away  from  Judson 
Flack's. 

She  crept  out.  It  was  so  dark  that  she  was  obliged 
to  wait  till  objects  defined  themselves  black  against 
black  before  she  could  see  the  stairs.  She  listened  too. 
There  were  sounds,  but  only  such  sounds  as  all  houses 
make  when  everyone  is  sleeping.  She  guessed,  it  was 
pure  guessing,  that  it  must  be  about  five  o'clock. 

She  stole  down  the  stairs.  The  necessity  for  keep- 
ing her  mind  on  moving  noiselessly  deadened  her 
thought  to  an3i:hing  else.  She  neither  looked  back  to 
what  she  was  leaving  behind,  nor  forward  to  what  she 
was  going  to.  Once  she  had  reached  the  street  it 
would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  both.    She  had  the 

162 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

fact  in  the  back  of  her  consciousness,  but  she  kept  it 
there.  Out  in  the  street  she  would  feel  grief  for  the 
prince  and  his  palace,  and  terror  at  the  void  before  her ; 
but  she  couldn't  feel  them  yet.  Her  one  impulse  was 
to  escape. 

At  the  great  street  door  she  could  see  nothing;  but 
she  could  feel.  She  found  the  key  and  turned  it  easily. 
As  the  door  did  not  then  yield  to  the  knob  she  fumbled 
till  she  touched  the  chain.  Slipping  that  out  of  its 
socket  she  tried  the  door  again,  but  it  still  refused  to 
open.  There  must  be  something  else !  Rich  houses 
were  naturally  fortresses!  She  discovered  the  bolt 
and  pulled  it  back. 

Still  the  door  was  fixed  like  a  rock.  She  couldn't 
make  it  out.  A  lock,  a  chain,  a  bolt!  Surely  that 
must  be  ever3rthing !  Perhaps  she  had  turned  the  key 
the  wrong  way.  She  turned  it  again,  but  only  with  the 
same  result.  She  found  she  could  turn  the  key  either 
way,  and  still  leave  the  door  immovable. 

Perhaps  she  didn't  pull  it  hard  enough.  Doors 
sometimes  stuck.  She  pulled  harder;  she  pulled  with 
her  whole  might  and  main.  She  could  shake  the  door ; 
she  could  make  it  rattle.  The  hanging  chain  dangled 
against  the  woodwork  with  a  terrifying  clank.  If 
anyone  was  lying  awake  she  would  sound  like  a  bur- 
glar— and  yet  she  must  get  out. 

Now  that  she  was  balked,  to  get  out  became  an 
obsession.  It  became  more  of  an  obsession  the  more 
she  was  balked.  It  made  her  first  impatient,  and  then 
frantic.  She  turned  the  key  this  way  and  that  way. 
She  pulled  and  tugged.  The  perspiration  came  out  on 
her  forehead.     She  panted   for  breath;  she  almost 

163 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

sobbed.  She  knew  there  was  a  "trick"  to  it.  She 
knew  it  was  a  simple  trick  because  she  had  seen  Steptoe 
perform  it  on  the  previous  day ;  but  she  couldn't  find 
out  what  it  was.  The  effort  made  her  only  the  more 
desperate. 

She  was  not  cr3ring;  she  was  only  gasping — ^in 
raucous,  exhausted,  nervous  sobs.  They  came  shorter 
and  harder  as  she  pitted  her  impotence  against  this 
unyielding  passivity.  She  knew  it  was  impotence,  and 
yet  she  couldn't  desist ;  and  she  couldn't  desist  because 
she  grew  more  and  more  frenzied.  It  was  the  kind  of 
frenzy  in  which  she  would  have  dashed  herself  wildly, 
vainly  against  the  force  that  blocked  her  with  its  piti- 
less resistance,  only  that  the  whole  hall  was  suddenly 
flooded  with  a  blaze  of  light. 

It  was  light  that  came  so  unexpectedly  that  her 
efforts  were  cut  short.  Even  her  hard  gasps  were 
silenced,  not  in  relief  but  in  amazement.  She  re- 
mained so  motionless  that  she  could  practically  see 
herself,  thrown  against  this  brutal  door,  her  arms 
spread  out  on  it  imploringly. 

Seconds  that  seemed  like  minutes  went  by  before 
she  found  strength  to  detach  herself  and  turn. 

Amazement  became  terror.  On  the  halfway  landing 
of  the  stairs  stood  a  figure  robed  in  scarlet  from  head 
to  foot,  with  flying  indigo  lapels.  He  was  girt  with 
an  indigo  girdle,  while  the  mass  of  his  hair  stood  up 
as  in  tongues  of  forked  black  flame.  The  countenance 
was  terrible,  in  mingled  perplexity  and  wrath. 

She  saw  it  was  the  prince,  but  a  prince  transformed 
by  condemnation. 

"What  on  earth  does  this  mean?" 
164 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

He  came  down  the  rest  of  the  stairs  till  he  stood  on 
the  lowest  step.    She  advanced  toward  him  pleadingly. 

"I  was — I  was  trying  to  get  out." 

**What  for?" 

"I — I — I  must  get  away." 

**Well,  even  so ;  is  this  the  way  to  do  it  ?  I  thought 
someone  was  tearing  the  house  down.    It  woke  me  up." 

"I  was  goin'  this  way  because — ^because  I  didn't 
want  you  to  know  what'd  become  of  me." 

"Yes,  and  have  you  on  my  mind." 

"I  hoped  I'd  be  takin'  myself  off  your  mind." 

"If  you  want  to  take  yourself  off  my  mind  there's 
a  perfectly  simple  means  of  doing  it." 

"I'll  do  anything — but  take  money." 

"And  taking  money  is  the  only  thing  I  ask  of  you." 

"I  can't.    It'd — it'd — shame  me." 

"Shame  you?    What  nonsense !" 

She  reflected  fast.  "There's  two  ways  a  woman  can 
take  money  from  a  man.  The  man  may  love  her  and 
marry  her ;  or  perhaps  he  don't  marry  her,  but  loves  her 
just  the  same.    Then  she  can  take  it;  but  when " 

"When  she  only  renders  him  a — a  great  serv- 
ice 

"Ah,  but  that's  just  what  I  didn't  do.  You  said 
you  wanted  me  to  send  you  to  the  devil — and  now 
you  ain't  a-goin'  to  go." 

He  grew  excited.  "But,  good  Lord,  girl,  you  don't; 
expect  me  to  go  to  the  devil  just  to  keep  my  word 
to  you." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  just  to  keep  yoiir 
word  to  me,"  she  returned,  fiercely.  "I  only  want  you 
to  let  me  get  away." 

165 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

He  came  down  the  remaining  step,  beginning  to 
pace  back  and  forth  as  he  always  did  when  approach- 
ing the  condition  he  called  "going  off  the  hooks." 
Letty  found  him  a  marvelous  figure  in  his  scarlet  robe, 
and  with  his  mass  of  diabolic  black  hair. 

"Yes,  and  if  I  let  you  get  away,  where  would  you 
get  away  to?'* 

"Oh,  I'U  find  a  place." 

"A  place  in  jail  as  a  vagrant,  as  I  said  the  other 
day." 

"I'd  rather  be  in  jail,"  she  flung  back  at  him,  "than 
stay  where  I'm  not  wanted." 

"That's  not  the  question," 

"It's  the  biggest  question  of  all  for  me.  It'd  be  the 
biggest  for  you  too  if  you  were  in  my  place."  She 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  him.  "Oh,  please  show  me 
how  to  work  the  door,  and  let  me  go." 

He  flared  a&he  was  in  the  habit  of  flaring  whenever 
he  was  opposed.  "You  can  go  when  we've  settled  the 
question  of  what  you'll  have  to  live  on." 

"I'll  have  myself  to  live  on — ^just  as  I  had  before 
I  met  you  in  the  Park." 

"Nothing  is  the  same  for  you  or  for  me  as  before 
I  met  you  in  the  Park." 

"No,  but  we  want  to  make  it  the  same,  don't  we? 
You  can't — can't  marry  the  other  girl  till  it  is." 

"I  can't  marry  the  other  girl  till  I  know  you're 
taken  care  of." 

"Money  wouldn't  take  care  of  n^.  That's  where 
you're  makin*  your  mistake.  You  rich  people  think 
that  money  will  do  anything.  So  it  will  for  you ;  but 
it  don't  mean  so  awful  much  to  me."    Her  eyes,  her 

i66 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

fips,  her  hands  besought  him  together.  "Think  now ! 
What  would  I  do  with  money  if  I  had  it?  It  ain't  as 
if  I  was  a  lady.  A  lady  has  ways  of  doin'  nothin' 
and  livin'  all  the  same ;  but  a  girl  like  me  don't  know 
anything  about  them,  I'd  go  crazy  if  I  didn't  work — 
or  I'd  die — or  I'd  do  somethin'  worse." 

It  was  because  his  nerves  were  on  edge  that  he  cried 
out :  "I  don't  care  a  button  what  you  do.  I'm  think- 
ing of  myself." 

She  betrayed  the  sharpness  of  the  wound  only  by  a 
deepening  of  the  damask  flush.  "I'm  thinkin'  of  you, 
too.  Wouldn't  you  rather  have  everything  come  right 
again — so  that  you  could  marry  the  other  girl — and 
know  that  I'd  done  it  for  you  free — and  not  that  you'd 
just  bought  me  off  ?" 

"You  mean,  wouldn't  I  rather  that  all  the  gener- 
osity should  be  on  your  side " 

"I    don't    care    anything    about    generosity.       I 

wouldn't  be  doin'  it  for  that.     It'd  be  because " 

He  flung  out  his  arms.    "Well — why?" 

"Because  I'd  like  to  do  something  for  you " 

"Do  something  for  me  by  making  me  a  cad."  He 
was  beside  himself.  "That's  what  it  would  come  to. 
That's  what  you're  playing  for.  I  should  be  a 
cad.  You  dress  yourself  up  again  in  this  ridicu- 
lous rig " 

"It's  not  a  ridic'lous  rig.    It's  my  own  clothes " 

"Your  own  clothes  now  are — are  what  I  saw  you  in 
when  I  came  home  last  evening.  You  can't  go  back 
to  that  thing.  We  can't  go  back  in  any  way."  He 
seemed  to  make  a  discovery.  "It's  no  use  trying  to 
be  what  we  were  in  the  Park,  because  we  can't  be. 

167 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Whatever  we  do  must  be  in  the  way  of— of  going  cm 
to  something  else." 

"Well,  that'd  be  something  else,  if  you'd  just  let  me 
go,  and  do  the  desertion  stunt  you  talked  to  me 
about " 

"I'll  not  let  you  do  it  tmless  I  pay  you  for  it/* 

"But  it'd  be  payin'  me  for  it  if — if  you'd  just  kt 
me  do  it.    Don't  you  see  I  want  to?" 

"I  can  see  that  you  want  to  keep  me  in  your  debt. 
I  can  see  that  I'd  never  have  another  easy  moment  in 
my  life.  Whatever  I  did,  and  whoever  I  married,  I 
should  have  to  owe  it  to  you." 

"Well,  couldn't  you — when  I  owe  so  much  to  you?" 

"There  you  go !  What  do  you  owe  to  me  ?  Noth- 
ing but  getting  you  into  an  infernal  scrape " 

"Oh,  no!  It's  not  been  that  at  all.  You'd  have 
to  be  me  to  understand  what  it  has  been.  It'll  be  some- 
thing to  think  of  all  the  rest  of  my  life — ^whatever 
I  do." 

"Yes,  and  I  know  how  you'll  think  of  it.** 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't.  You  couldn't.  It's  nothin'  to 
you  to  come  into  this  beautiful  house  and  see  its  lovely 
kind  of  life ;  but  for  me " 

"Oh,  don't  throw  that  sort  of  thing  at  me,**  he 
flamed  out,  striding  up  and  down.  "Steptoe's  been 
putting  that  into  your  head.  He's  strong  on  the  senti- 
mental stuff.  You  and  he  are  in  a  conspiracy  against 
me.  That's  what  it  is.  It's  a  conspiracy.  He's  got 
something  up  his  sleeve — I  don't  know  what — and  he's 
using  you  as  his  tool.  But  you  don't  come  it  over 
me.    I'm  wise,  I  am.    I'm  a  fool  too.    I  know  it  well 

enough.    But  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  to " 

i68 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

She  was  frightened.  He  was  going  "off  the  hooks." 
She  knew  the  signs  of  it.  This  rapid  speech,  one  word 
leading  to  another,  had  always  been  her  mother's  first 
sign  of  super-excitement,  until  it  ended  in  a  scream. 
If  he  were  to  scream  she  would  be  more  terrified  than 
she  had  ever  been  in  her  life.  She  had  never  heard  a 
man  scream ;  but  then  she  had  never  seen  a  man  grow 
hysterical. 

His  utterance  was  the  more  clear-cut  and  distinct 
the  faster  it  became. 

"I  know  what  it  is.  Steptoe  thinks  I'm  going 
insane,  and  he's  made  you  think  so  too.  That's  why 
you  want  to  get  away.  You're  afraid  of  me.  Well, 
I  don't  wonder  at  it;  but  you're  not  going.  See? 
You're  not  going.  You'll  go  when  I  send  you ;  but 
you'll  not  go  before.  See  ?  I've  married  you,  haven't 
I?  When  all  is  said  and  done  you're  my  wife.  My 
wife!"  He  laughed,  between  gritted  teeth.  "My 
wife !  That's  my  wife !"  He  pointed  at  her.  "Rash- 
leigh  Allerton  who  thought  so  much  of  himself  has 
married  that — and  she's  trying  to  do  the  generous 
by  him " 

Going  up  to  him  timidly,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm.    "Say,  mister,  would  you  mind  countin'  ten?" 

The  appeal  took  him  so  much  by  surprise  that,  both 
in  his  speech  and  in  his  walk,  he  stopped  abruptly. 
She  began  to  count,  slowly,  and  marking  time  with  her 
forefinger.  "One — ^two — ^three — four — ^five — six — 
seven — eight — ^nine — ^ten." 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  it  was  she  who  had  gone  "off 
the  hooks."    "What  do  you  mean  by  that?'* 

"Oh,  nothin'.    Now  you  can  begin  again." 
169 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Begin  what?" 

**What  you  was — ^what  you  were  sayin*." 

"What  I  was  saying?"  He  rubbed  his  hand  across 
his  forehead,  which  was  wet  with  cold  perspiration. 
"Well,  what  was  I  saying?" 

He  was  not  only  dazed,  but  a  pallor  stole  over  his 
skin,  the  more  ghastly  in  contrast  with  his  black  hair 
and  his  scarlet  dressing-gown. 

"Isn't  there  no  place  you  can  lay  down?  I  always 
laid  momma  down  after  a  spell  of  this  kind.  It  did 
her  good  to  sleep  and  she  always  slept." 

He  said,  absently :  "There's  a  couch  in  the  library. 
I  can't  go  back  to  bed." 

"No,  you  don't  want  to  go  back  to  bed,"  she  agreed, 
as  if  she  was  humoring  a  child.  "You  wouldn't  sleep 
there " 

"I  haven't  slept  for  two  nights,"  he  pleaded,  in 
excuse  for  himself,  "not  since " 

Taking  him  by  the  arm  she  led  him  into  the  library, 
which  was  in  an  ell  behind  the  back  drawing-room.  It 
was  a  big,  book-lined  room  with  worn,  shiny,  leather- 
covered  furnishings.  On  the  shiny,  leather-covered 
couch  was  a  cushion  which  she  shook  up  and  smoothed 
out.  Over  its  foot  lay  an  afghan  the  work  of  the  late 
Mrs.  AUerton. 

"Now,  lay  down." 

He  stretched  himself  out  obediently,  after  which 
she  covered  him  with  the  afghan.  When  he  had  closed 
his  eyes  she  passed  her  hand  across  his  forehead,  on 
which  the  perspiration  was  still  thick  and  cold.  She 
remembered  that  a  bottle  of  Florida  water  and  a  paper 
fan  were  among  the  luxuries  of  the  back  spare  room. 

170 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Don't  you  stir,"  she  warned  him.  "I'm  goin'  to 
get  you  something." 

Absorbed  in  her  tasks  as  nurse  she  forgot  to  make  the 
sentimental  reflections  in  which  she  would  otherwise 
have  indulged.  Back  to  the  room  from  which  she  had 
fled  she  hurried  with  no  thought  that  she  was  doing  so. 
From  the  grave  of  hope  she  disinterred  a  half  dozen 
of  the  spider-web  handkerchiefs  to  which  a  few 
hours  previously  she  had  bid  a  touching  adieu.  With 
handkerchiefs,  fan,  and  Florida  water,  she  flew 
back  to  her  patient,  who  opened  his  eyes  as  she 
approached. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  fussed  over "  he  was  be- 
ginning, fretfully. 

"Lie  still,"  she  commanded.  "I  know  what  to  do. 
I'm  used  to  people  who  are  sick — ^up  here." 

"Up  here"  was  plainly  the  forehead  which  she 
mopped  softly  with  a  specimen  from  Margot's  Pari- 
sian consignment.  He  closed  his  eyes.  His  features 
relaxed  to  an  expression  of  relief.  Relief  gave  place 
to  repose  when  he  felt  her  hand  with  the  cool  scented 
essence  on  his  brow.  It  passed  and  passed  again, 
lightly,  soothingly,  consolingly.  Drowsily  he  thought 
that  it  was  Barbara's  hand,  but  a  Barbara  somehow 
transformed,  and  grown  tenderer. 

He  was  asleep.  She  sat  fanning  him  till  a  feeble 
daylight  through  an  uncurtained  window  warned  her 
to  switch  off  the  electricity.  Coming  back  to  her  place, 
she  continued  to  fan  him,  quietly  and  deftly,  with  no 
more  than  a  motion  of  the  wrist.  She  had  the  nurse's 
wrist,  slender,  flexible;  the  nurse's  hand,  strong, 
shapely,  with  practical  spatulated  finger-tips.  After 
12  171 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

all,  he  was  in  some  degree  the  drowning  unconscious 
prince,  and  she  the  little  mermaid. 

"He'll  be  ashamed  when  he  wakes  up.  He'll  not  like 
to  find  me  sittin'  here." 

It  was  broad  daylight  now.  He  was  as  sound  asleep 
as  a  child.  Since  she  couldn't  disturb  him  by  rising 
she  rose.  Since  she  couldn't  disturb  him  even  by  kissing 
him  she  kissed  him.  But  she  wouldn't  kiss  his  lips, 
nor  so  much  as  his  cheek  or  his  brow.  Very  humbly 
she  knelt  and  kissed  his  feet,  outlined  beneath  the 
afghan.    Then  she  stole  away. 


Chapter  XV 

nPHE  interlacing  of  destinies  is  such  that  you  will 
1.  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  the  further  careers 
of  Letty  Gravely,  of  Barbara  Walbrook,  of  Rashleigh 
AUerton  now  turned  on  Mademoiselle  Odette  Coucoul, 
whose  name  not  one  of  the  three  was  ever  destined  to 
hear. 

On  his  couch  in  the  library  Allerton  slept  till  after 
nine,  waking  in  a  confusion  which  did  not  preclude  a 
sense  of  refreshment.  At  the  same  minute  Madame 
Simone  was  finishing  her  explanations  to  Mademoi- 
selle Coucoul  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  to  the  seal- 
brown  costume,  which  Steptoe  had  added  to  Letty's 
wardrobe,  in  order  to  conceal  the  fact  that  it  was  a 
model  of  a  season  old,  and  not  the  new  creation  its 
purchasers  supposed.  Taking  in  her  instructions  with 
Gallic  precision  mademoiselle  was  already  at  work 
when  Miss  Tina  Vanzetti  paused  at  her  door.  The 
door  was  that  of  a  small  French-paneled  room,  once 
the  boudoir  of  the  owner  of  the  Flemish  chateau,  but 
set  apart  now  by  Madame  Simone  for  jobs  requiring 
deftness. 

Miss  Vanzetti,  whose  Neapolitan  grandfather  had 
begun  his  American  career  as  a  boot-black  in  Brook- 
lyn, was  of  the  Americanized  type  of  her  race.  She 
could  not,  of  course,  eliminate  her  Latinity  of  eye 
and  tress  nor  her  wild  luxuriance  of  bust,  but  Eng- 
lish was  her  mother-tongue,  and  the  chewing  of  gum 

173 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

her  national  pastime.  She  chewed  it  now,  slowly, 
thoughtfully,  as  she  stood  looking  in  on  Mademois- 
elle Odette,  who  was  turning  the  skirt  this  way  and 
that,  searching  out  the  almost  invisible  traces  of  use 
which  were  to  be  removed. 

"So  she's  give  you  that  to  do,  has  she  ?  Some  stunt, 
111  say.  Gee,  she's  got  her  gall  with  her,  old  Simone, 
puttin'  that  off  on  the  pubhc  as  something  new.  If 
I  had  a  dollar  for  every  time  Mamie  Gunn  has  walked 
in  and  out  to  show  it  to  customers  I'd  buy  a  set  of 
silver  fox." 

Mademoiselle's  smile  was  radiant,  not  because  she 
had  radiance  to  shed,  but  because  her  lips  and  teeth 
framed  themselves  that  way.  She  too  was  of  her 
race,  alert,  vivacious,  and  as  neat  as  a  trivet,  as  be- 
came a  former  midinette  of  the  rue  de  la  Paix  and  a 
daughter  of  Batignolles. 

"Madame  she  t'ink  it  all  in  de  beezeness,"  she  con- 
tented herself  with  saying. 

With  her  left  hand  Miss  Vanzetti  put  soft  touches 
to  the  big  black  coils  of  her  back  hair.  "See  that 
kid  that  all  these  things  is  goin'  to?  Gee,  but  she's 
beginnin'  to  step  out.  I  know  her.  Spotted  her  the 
minute  she  come  in  to  try  on.  Me  and  she  went  to 
the  same  school.  Lived  in  the  same  street.  Name  of 
Letty  Gravely." 

Seeing  that  she  was  expected  to  make  a  response 
mademoiselle  could  think  of  nothing  better  than  to 
repeat  in  her  pretty  staccato  English:  "Name  of 
Let-ty  Grav-el-ly." 

"Stepfather's  name  was  Judson  Flack.  Company- 
promoter  he  called  himself.    Mother  croaked  three  or 

174 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

four  years  ago,  just  before  we  moved  to  Harlem. 
Never  saw  no  more  of  her  till  she  walked  in  here  with 
the  old  white  slaver  what's  payin'  for  the  outfit. 
Gee,  you  needn't  tell  me!  S'pose  she'll  hit  the  pace 
till  some  fella  chucks  her.  Gee,  I'm  sorry.  Awful 
slim  chance  a  girl'll  get  when  some  guy  with  a  wad 
blows  along  and  wants  her."  The  theme  exhausted 
Miss  Vanzetti  asked  suddenly:  "Why  don't  you 
never  come  to  the  Lantern?" 

In  her  broken  English  mademoiseHe  explained  that 
she  didn't  know  the  American  dances,  but  that  a  fella 
had  promised  to  teach  her  the  steps.  She  had  met  him 
at  the  house  of  a  cousin  who  was  married  to  a  waiter 
chez  Bouquin.  Ver'  beautiful  fella,  he  was,  and  had 
invited  her  to  a  chop  suey  dinner  that  evening,  with 
the  dance  at  the  Lantern  to  wind  up  with.  Most 
ver'  beautiful  fella,  single,  and  a  detective. 

"Good  for  you,"  Miss  Vanzetti  commanded.  "If  you 
don't  dance  you  might  as  well  be  dead,  I'll  say.  Keeps 
you  thin,  too ;  and  the  music  at  the  Lantern  is  swell." 

The  incident  is  so  slight  that  to  get  its  significance 
you  must  link  it  up  with  the  sound  of  the  telephone 
which,  as  a  simultaneous  happening,  was  waking  Jud- 
son  Flack  from  his  first  real  sleep  after  an  uncom- 
fortable night.  Nothing  but  the  fear  lest  by  ignoring 
the  call  the  great  North  Dakota  Oil  Company  whose 
shares  would  soon  be  on  the  market,  would  be  defi- 
nitely launched  without  his  assistance  dragged  him 
from  his  bed. 

"Hello?" 

A  woman's  voice  inquired:  "Is  this  Hudson 
283-J?" 

175 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

''You  bet." 

"Is  Miss  Gravely  in?" 

"Just  gone  out.  Only  round  the  corner.  Back  in  a 
few  minutes.  Say,  sister,  I'm  her  stepfather,  and 
'11  take  the  message." 

"Tell  her  to  come  right  over  to  the  Excelsior 
Studio.  Castin'  director's  got  a  part  for  her.  Real 
part.  Small  but  a  stunner.  Outcast  girl.  I  s'pose 
she's  got  some  old  duds  to  dress  it  in  ?" 

"Sure  thing!" 

"Well,  tell  her  to  bring  'em  along.  And  say,  listen ! 
I  don't  mind  passing  you  the  tip  that  the  castin'  di- 
rector has  his  eye  on  that  girl  for  doin'  the  pathetic 
stunt ;  so  see  she  ain't  late." 

"Y'betcha." 

That  an  ambitious  man,  growing  anxious  about  his 
future,  was  thus  placed  in  a  trying  situation  will  be 
seen  at  once.  The  chance  of  a  lifetime  was  there  and 
he  was  unable  to  seize  it.  Everyone  knew  that  by 
these  small  condensations  of  nebular  promise  stars 
were  eventually  evolved,  and  to  have  at  his  disposal 
the  earnings  of  a  star.  .  .  . 

It  seemed  providential  then  that  on  dropping  into 
the  basement  eating  place  at  which  he  had  begun  to 
take  his  breakfasts  he  should  fall  in  with  Gorry 
Larrabin.  They  were  not  friends,  or  rather  they 
were  better  than  friends;  they  were  enemies  who 
found  each  other  useful.  Mutually  antipathetic,  they 
quarrelled,  but  could  not  afford  to  quarrel  long.  A 
few  days  or  a  few  weeks  having  gone  by,  they  met 
with  a  nod,  as  if  no  hot  words  had  been  passed. 

It  was  such  an  occasion  now.  Ten  days  earlier 
176 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Judson  had  called  Gorry  to  his  teeth  "no  detective, 
but  a  hired  sneak."  Gorry  had  retorted  that,  hired 
sneak  as  he  was,  he  would  have  Judson  Flack  "in  the 
jug"  as  a  promoter  of  faked  companies  before  the  year 
was  out.  One  word  had  led  to  another,  and  only  the 
intervention  of  friends  to  both  parties  had  kept  the 
high-spirited  fellows  from  exchanging  blows.  But  the 
moment  had  come  round  again  when  each  had  an  axe 
to  grind,  so  that  as  Judson  hung  up  his  hat  near  the 
table  at  which  Gorry,  having  finished  his  breakfast, 
was  smoking  and  picking  his  teeth,  the  nod  of  recon- 
ciliation was  given  and  returned. 

"Say,  why  don't  you  sit  down  here  ?" 

Politely  Gorry  indicated  the  unoccupied  side  of  his 
own  table.  It  was  a  small  table  covered  with  a  white 
oil-cloth,  and  tolerably  clean. 

"Don't  mind  if  I  do,"  was  the  other's  return  of 
courtesy,  friendly  relations  being  thus  re-established. 

Having  given  his  order  to  a  stunted  Hebrew  maid 
of  Polish  culture,  Judson  Flack  launched  at  once  into 
the  subject  of  Letty.  He  did  this  for  a  two-fold 
reason.  First,  his  grievance  made  the  expression  of 
itself  imperative,  and  next,  Gorry  being  a  hanger-on 
of  that  profession  which  lives  by  knowing  what  other 
people  don't  might  be  in  a  position  to  throw  light  on 
Letty's  disappearance.  If  he  was  he  gave  no  sign  of 
it.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  not,  but  he  meant  to 
be.  He  remembered  the  girl;  had  admired  her;  had 
pointed  out  to  several  of  his  friends  that  she  had 
only  to  doll  herself  up  in  order  to  knock  spots  out 
of  a  lot  of  good  lookers  of  recognized  supremacy. 

Odette  Coucoul's  description  of  him  as  "most  ver' 
177 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

beautiful  fella**  was  not  without  some  justification. 
Regular,  clean-cut  features,  long  and  thin,  were  the  com- 
plement of  a  slight  well-knit  figure,  of  which  the  only 
criticism  one  could  make  was  that  it  looked  slippery. 
Slipperiness  was  perhaps  his  ruling  characteristic,  a 
softness  of  movement  suggesting  a  cat,  and  a  habit 
of  putting  out  and  drawing  back  a  long,  supple,  snake- 
like hand  which  made  you  think  of  a  pickpocket. 
Eyes  that  looked  at  you  steadily  enough  impressed 
you  as  untrustworthy  chiefly  because  of  a  dropping  of 
the  pupil  of  the  left,  through  muscular  inability, 

"Awful  sorry,  Judson,"  was  his  summing  up  of 
S3nmpathy  with  his  companion's  narrative.  "Any  dope 
I  get  I'll  pass  along  to  you." 

Between  gentlemen,  however,  there  are  understand- 
ings which  need  not  be  put  into  words,  the  principle  of 
nothing  for  nothing  being  one  of  them.  The  conver- 
sation had  not  progressed  much  further  before  Gorry 
felt  at  liberty  to  say : 

"Now,  about  this  North  Dakota  Oil,  Judson.  I'd 
like  awful  well  to  get  in  on  the  ground  floor  of  that. 
I've  got  a  little  something  to  blow  in ;  and  there's  a  lot 
of  suckers  ready  to  snap  up  that  stock  before  you 
print  the  certificates.** 

Diplomacy  being  necessary  here  Judson  practiced  it. 
Grorry  might  indeed  be  seeking  a  way  of  turning  an 
honest  penny;  but  then  again  he  might  mean  to  sell 
out  the  whole  show.  On  the  one  hand  you  couldn't 
trust  him,  and  on  the  other  it  wouldn't  do  to  offend 
him  so  long  as  there  was  a  chance  of  his  getting  news 
of  the  girl.  Judson  could  only  temporize,  pleading 
his  lack  of  influence  with  the  bunch  who  were  getting 

178 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

up  the  company.  At  the  same  time  he  would  do  his 
utmost  to  work  Gorry  in,  on  the  tacit  understanding 
that  nothing  would  be  done  for  nothing. 

Allerton  too  had  breakfasted  late,  at  the  New 
Netherlands  Club,  and  was  now  with  Miss  Barbara 
Walbrook,  who  received  him  in  the  same  room,  and 
wearing  the  same  hydrangea-colored  robe,  as  on  the 
previous  morning.  He  had  called  her  up  from  the 
Club,  asking  to  be  allowed  to  come  once  more  at  this 
unconventional  hour  in  order  to  communicate  good 
news. 

"She's  willing  to  do  anything,"  he  stated  at  once, 
making  the  announcement  with  the  glee  of  evident 
relief.  "In  fact,  it  was  by  pure  main  force  that  I  kept 
her  from  rimning  away  from  the  house  this  morning." 

He  was  dashed  that  she  did  not  take  these  tidings 
with  his  own  buoyancy.  "What  made  you  stop  her  ?" 
she  asked,  in  some  wonder.  "Sit  down,  Rash.  Tell 
me  the  whole  thing." 

Though  she  took  a  chair  he  was  unable  to  do  so. 
His  excitement  now  was  over  the  ease  with  which  the 
difficulty  was  going  to  be  met.  He  could  only  talk 
about  it  in  a  standing  position,  leaning  on  the  mantel- 
piece, or  stroking  the  head  of  the  Manship  terra  cotta 
child,  while  she  gazed  up  at  him,  nervously  beating 
her  left  palm  with  the  black  and  gold  fringe  of  her 
girdle. 

"I  stopped  her  because — ^well,  because  it  wouldn't 
have  done." 

"Why  wouldn't  it  have  done  ?  I  should  think  that 
it's  just  what  would  have  done." 

179 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Let  her  slip  away  penniless,  and — and  without 
friends?" 

"She'd  be  no  more  penniless  and  without  friends 
than  she  was  when — ^when  you — "  she  sought  for  the 
right  word — "when  you  picked  her  up." 

"No,  of  course  not ;  only  now  the — ^the  situation  is 
different." 

"I  don't  see  that  it  is — ^much.  Besides,  if  you  were 
to  let  her  run  away  first,  so  that  you  get — ^whatever 
the  law  wants  you  to  get,  you  could  see  that  she  wasn't 
penniless  and  without  friends  afterwards.  Most 
likely  that's  what  she  was  expecting." 

His  countenance  fell.    "I — I  don't  think  so." 

"Oh,  you  wouldn't  think  so  as  long  as  she  could 
bamboozle  you.  I  was  simply  thinking  of  your  getting 
what  she  probably  wants  to  give  you — for  a  price." 

"I  don't  think  you  do  her  justice,  Barbe.  If  you'd 
seen  her " 

**Very  well ;  I  shall  see  her.  But  seeing  her  won't 
make  any  difference  in  my  opinion." 

"She'll  not  strike  you  as  anything  wonderful  of 
course ;  but  I  know  she's  as  straight  as  they  make  'em. 
And  so  long  as  she  is " 

"Well,  what  then?" 

**Why,  then,  it  seems  to  me,  we  must  be  straight  on 
bur  side." 

"We'll  be  straight  enough  if  we  pay  her  her  price." 

"There's  more  to  it  than  that." 

"Oh,  there  is  ?   Then  how  much  more  ?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can  explain  it."  He  lifted  one 
of  the  Stiegel  candlesticks  and  put  it  back  in  its  place. 
"I  simply  feel  that  we  can't — that  we  can't  let  all  the 

1 80 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

magnanimity  be  on  her  side.    If  she  plays  high,  we've 
got  to  play  higher." 

"I  see.    So  she's  got  you  there,  has  she  ?'* 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  disagreeable  about  it, 
Barbe." 

"My  dear  Rash,"  she  expostulated,  "it  isn't  being 
disagreeable  to  have  common  sense.  It's  all  the  more 
necessary  for  me  not  to  abnegate  that,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  you  do." 

He  hurled  himself  to  the  other  end  of  the  mantel- 
piece, picking  up  the  second  candlestick  and  putting  it 
down  with  force.  "It's  surely  not  abnegating  common 
sense  just  to — to  recognize  honesty." 

"Please  don't  fiddle  with  those  candlesticks.  They're 
the  rarest  American  workmanship,  and  if  you  were  to 
break  one  of  them  Aunt  Marion  would  kill  me.  I'll 
feel  safer  about  you  if  you  sit  down." 

"All  right.  I'll  sit  down."  He  drew  to  him  a  small 
frail  chair,  sitting  astride  on  it.  "Only  please  don't 
fidget  me." 

"Would  you  mind  taking  that  chair?"  She  pointed 
to  something  solid  and  masculine  by  Phyffe.  "That 
little  thing  is  one  of  Aunt  Marion's  pet  pieces  of  old 
Dutch  colonial.  If  anything  were  to  happen  to  it — 
But  you  were  talking  about  recognizing  honesty,"  she 
continued,  as  he  moved  obediently.  "That's  exactly 
what  I  should  like  you  to  do.  Rash,  dear — ^with  your 
eyes  open.  If  I'm  not  looking  anyone  can  pull  the 
wool  over  them,  whether  it's  this  girl  or  someone 
else." 

"In  other  words  I'm  a  fool,  as  you  were  good 

enough  to  say " 

i8i 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Oh,  do  forget  that.  I  couldn't  help  saying  it,  as 
I  think  you  ought  to  admit ;  but  don't  keep  bringing 
it  up  every  time  I  do  my  best  to  meet  you  pleasantly. 
I'm  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  any  more.  Rash. 
I've  made  a  vow  to  that  effect  and  I'm  going  to  keep 
it.  But  if  I'm  to  keep  it  on  my  side  you  mustn't 
badger  me  on  yours.  It  doesn't  do  me  any  good,  and 
it  does  yourself  a  lot  of  harm."  Having  delivered 
this  homily  she  took  a  tone  of  brisk  cheerfulness. 
"Now,  you  said  over  the  phone  that  you  were  coming 
to  tell  me  good  news." 

"Well,  that  was  it." 

'What  was  it?" 

"That  she  was  ready  to  do  an)rthing — even  to  dis- 
appear." 

"And  you  wouldn't  let  her." 

"That  I  couldn't  let  her — ^with  nothing  to  show 
for  it." 

"But  she  will  have  something  to  show  for  it — in  the 
end.  She  knows  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Do  you  sup- 
pose for  a  minute  that  she  doesn't  understand  the 
kind  of  man  she's  dealing  with?" 

"You  mean  that ?" 

"Rash,  dear,  no  girl  who  knows  as  much  as  this 
girl  knows  could  help  seeing  at  a  glance  that  she's  got 
a  pigeon  to  pluck,  as  the  French  say,  and  of  course 
she  means  to  pluck  it.  You  can't  blame  her  for  that, 
being  what  she  is ;  but  for  heaven's  sake  let  her  pluck 
it  in  her  own  way.  Don't  be  a  simpleton.  Angels 
shouldn't  rush  in  where  fools  would  fear  to  tread — 
and  you  are  an  angel.  Rash,  though  I  suppose  I'm  the 
only  one  in  the  world  who  sees  it." 

182 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Thank  you,  Barbe.  I  know  you  feel  kindly  toward 
me,  and  that,  as  you  say,  you're  the  only  one  in  the 
world  who  does.  That's  all  right,  I  acknowledge  it, 
and  I'm  grateful.  What  I  don't  like  is  to  see  you 
taking  it  for  granted  that  this  girl  is  merely  playing 
a  game " 

"Rash,  do  you  remember  those  two  winters  I 
worked  in  the  Bleary  Street  Settlement?  and  do  you 
remember  that  the  third  winter  I  said  that  I'd  rather 
enlist  in  the  Navy  that  go  back  to  it  again  ?  You  all 
thought  that  I  was  cynical  and  hard-hearted,  but  I'll 
tell  you  now  what  the  trouble  was.  I  went  down  there 
thinking  I  could  teach  those  girls — that  I  could  do 
them  good — and  raise  them  up — ^and  have  them  call 
me  blessed — and  all  that.  Well,  there  wasn't  one  of 
them  who  hadn't  forgotten  more  than  I  ever  knew — 
who  wasn't  working  me  when  I  supposed  she  was 
hanging  on  my  wisdom — who  wasn't  laughing  at  me 
behind  my  back  when  I  was  under  the  delusion  that 
she  was  following  my  good  example.  And  if  you've 
got  one  of  them  on  your  hands  she'll  fool  the  eyes 
out  of  your  head." 

"You  think  so,"  he  said,  drily.    "Then  I  don't." 

"In  that  case  there's  no  use  discussing  it  any 
further." 

"There  may  be  after  you've  seen  her." 

"How  can  I  see  her  ?" 

"You  can  go  to  the  house." 

"And  tell  her  I  know  everything?" 

'If  you  like.  You  could  say  I  told  you  in  confi- 
dence— that  you're  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"And  nothing  else?" 

183 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Since  you  only  want  to  size  her  up  I  should  think 
that  would  be  enough." 

She  nodded,  slowly.  "Yes,  I  think  you're  right. 
Better  not  give  anything  away  we  can  keep  to  our- 
selves. Now  tell  me  what  happened  this  morning. 
You  haven't  done  it  yet." 

He  told  her  everything — ^how  he  had  been  waked 
by  hearing  someone  fumbling  with  the  lock  of  the 
door,  whether  inside  or  outside  the  house  he  couldn't 
tell — how  he  had  gone  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
switched  on  the  lower  hall  light — ^how  she  had  flung 
herself  against  the  door  as  a  little  gray  bird  might 
dash  itself  against  its  cage  in  its  passion  to  escape. 

"She  staged  it  well,  didn't  she?  She  must  have 
brains." 

"She  has  brains  all  right,  but  I  don't  think '* 

"She  knew  of  course  that  if  she  made  enough  noise 
someone  would  come,  and  she'd  get  the  credit  for  good 
intentions." 

"I  really  don't  think,  Barbe.  .  .  .  Now  let  me  tell 
you.  You'll  see  what  she's  like.  I  felt  very  much  as 
you  do.  I  was  right  on  the  jump.  Got  all  worked  up. 
Would  have  gone  clean  off  the  hooks  if " 

There  followed  the  narrative  of  his  loss  of  temper, 
of  his  wild  talk,  of  her  clever  strategy  in  counting 
ten — "just  like  a  cold  douche  it  was" — and  the  faint 
turn  he  so  often  had  after  spells  of  emotion.  To  con- 
vince Miss  Walbrook  of  the  queer  little  thing's  ingen- 
uousness he  told  how  she  had  made  him  lie  down  on 
the  library  couch,  covered  him  up,  rubbed  his  brow 
with  Florida  water,  and  induced  the  best  sleep  he  had 
had  in  months. 

184 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

SHe  surprised  him  by  springing  to  her  feet,  her 
arms  outspread.  "You  great  big  idiot !  Really  there's 
no  other  name  for  you !" 

He  gazed  up  at  her  in  amazement.  ''What's  the 
matter  now  ?" 

Flinging  her  hands  about  she  made  inarticulate 
sounds  of  exasperation  beyond  words. 

"There,  there ;  that'll  do,"  she  threw  off,  when  he 
jumped  to  her  side,  to  calm  her  by  taking  her  in  his 
arms.  '7'm  not  off  the  hooks.  /  don't  want  anyone 
to  rub  Florida  water  on  my  brow — ^and  hold  my  hand 
— and  cradle  me  to  sleep " 

"She  didn't,"  he  exclaimed,  witli  indignation.  "She 
never  touched  my  hand.    She  just " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  she  did — ^and  of  course  I'm 
grateful.  I'm  delighted  that  she  was  there  to  do  it — 
delighted.  I  quite  see  now  why  you  couldn't  let  her 
go,  when  you  knew  your  fit  was  coming  on.  I've  seen 
you  pretty  bad,  but  I've  never  seen  you  as  bad  as  that ; 
and  I  must  say  I  never  should  have  thought  of  count- 
ing ten  as  a  cure  for  it." 

"Well,  she  did." 

"Quite  so!  And  if  I  were  you  I'd  never  go  any- 
where without  her.  I'd  keep  her  on  hand  in  case  I  took 
a  turn " 

He  was  looking  more  and  more  reproachful.  "I 
must  say,  Barbe,  I  don't  think  you're  very  reasonable." 

She  pushed  him  from  her  with  both  hands  against 
his  shoulders.  "Go  away,  for  heaven's  sake !  You'll 
drive  me  crazy.  I'm  not  going  to  lose  my  temper  with 
you.  I'll  never  do  it  again.  I've  got  you  to  bear  with, 
and  I'm  going  to  bear  with  you.    But  go!    No,  go 

i8S 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

now !  Don't  stop  to  make  explanations.  You  can  do 
that  later.  I'll  lay  in  a  supply  of  Florida  water  and 
an  afghan.  .  .  ." 

He  went  with  that  look  on  his  face  which  a  well 
meaning  dog  will  wear  when  his  good  intentions  are 
being  misinterpreted.  On  his  way  to  the  office  he  kept 
saying  to  himself:  **Well  /  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Whatever  I  say  she  takes  me  up  the  wrong  way.  All 
I  wanted  was  for  her  to  understand  that  the  little 
thing  is  a  good  little  thing.  .  .  ," 


Chapter  XVI 

TY/HILE  Allerton  was  making   these  reflections 
W     Steptoe  was  summoned  to  the  telephone. 

"Is  this  you,  Steptoe?  I'm  Miss  Barbara  Wal- 
brook." 

Steptoe  braced  himself.  In  conversing  with  Miss 
Barbara  Walbrook  he  always  felt  the  need  of  inner 
strengthening.    "Yes,  Miss  Walbrook?" 

"Mr.  Allerton  tells  me  you've  a  young  woman  at 
the  house." 

"We  'ave  a  young  lydy.    Certainly,  miss." 

"And  Mr.  Allerton  has  asked  me  to  call  on  her," 

Steptoe's  training  as  a  servant  permitted  him  no 
lapses  of  surprise.  "Quite  so,  miss.  And  when  was 
it  you'd  be  likely  to  call  ?" 

"This  afternoon  about  four-thirty.     Perhaps  you 
could  arrange  to  have  me  see  her  alone." 
i     "Oh,  there  ain't  likely  to  be  no  one  'ere,  miss." 

"And  another  thing,  Steptoe.  Mr.  Allerton  has 
asked  me  just  to  call  as  an  old  friend  of  his.  So 
you'll  please  not  say  to  her  that — ^well,  anything  about 
me.    I'm  sure  you  understand." 

Steptoe  replied  that  he  did  understand,  and  having 
put  up  the  receiver  he  pondered. 

What  could  it  mean?    What  could  be  back  of  it? 

How  would  this  unsophisticated  girl  meet  so  skilful 

an  antagonist.    That  Miss  Walbrook  was  coming  as 

an  antagonist  he  had  no  doubt.    In  his  own  occasional 

1»  187 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

meetings  with  her  she  had  always  been  a  superior,  a 
commander,  to  whom  even  he,'Enery  Steptoe,  had  been 
a  servitor  requiring  no  further  consideration.  With  so 
gentle  an  opponent  as  madam  she  would  order  and  be 
obeyed. 

At  the  same  time  he  could  not  alarm  madam,  or 
allow  her  to  shirk  the  encounter.  She  had  that  in  her, 
he  was  sure,  which  couldn't  but  win  out,  however  much 
she  might  be  at  a  disadvantage.  His  part  would  be 
to  reduce  her  disadvantages  to  a  minimum,  allowing 
her  strong  points  to  tell.  Her  strong  points,  he 
reckoned,  were  innocence,  an  absence  of  self-con- 
sciousness, and,  to  the  worldly-wise,  a  disconcerting 
candor.  Steptoe  analyzed  in  the  spirit  and  not  ver- 
bally ;  but  he  analyzed. 

For  Letty  the  morning  had  been  feverish,  chiefly 
because  of  her  uncertainty.  Was  it  the  wish  of  the 
prince  that  she  should  go,  or  was  it  not?  If  it  was 
his  wish,  why  had  he  not  let  her?  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  desired  her  to  stay,  what  did  he  mean  to  do 
with  her  ?  He  had  passed  her  on  the  way  out  to  break- 
fast at  the  Club — she  had  been  standing  in  the  hall — 
and  he  had  smiled. 

What  was  the  significance  of  that  smile?  She  sat 
down  in  the  library  to  think.  She  sat  down  in  the 
chair  she  had  occupied  while  he  lay  on  the  couch, 
and  reconstructed  that  scene  which  now,  for  all  her 
life,  would  thrill  her  with  emotional  memories.  There 
he  had  lain,  his  head  on  the  very  indentation  which 
the  cushion  still  bore,  his  feet  here,  where  she  had 
pressed  her  lips  to  them.  She  had  actually  had  her 
hand  on  his  brow,  she  had  smoothed  back  his  hair, 

1 88 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

and  had  hardly  noted  at  the  time  that  such  was  her 
extraordinary  privilege. 

She  came  back  to  the  fact  that  he  had  smiled  at  her. 
It  would  have  been  an  enchanting  smile  from  anyone, 
but  coming  from  a  prince  it  had  all  the  romantic 
effulgence  with  which  princes'  smiles  are  infused. 
How  much  of  that  romantic  effulgence  came  auto- 
matically from  the  prince  because  he  was  a  prince, 
and  how  much  of  it  was  inspired  by  herself?  Was 
any  of  it  inspired  by  herself?  When  all  was  said  and 
done  this  last  was  the  great  question. 

It  brought  her  where  so  many  things  brought  her, 
to  the  dream  of  love  at  first  sight.  Could  it  have 
happened  to  him  as  it  had  happened  to  herself?  It 
was  so  much  in  her  mental  order  of  things  that  she 
was  far  from  considering  it  impossible.  Improbable, 
yes ;  she  would  admit  as  much  as  that ;  but  impossible, 
no!  To  be  sure  she  had  been  in  the  old  gray  rag; 
but  Steptoe  had  informed  her  that  there  were  kings 
who  went  about  falling  in  love  with  beggar-maids. 
She  would  have  loved  being  one  of  those  beggar- 
maids;  and  after  all,  was  she  not? 

True,  there  was  the  other  girl ;  but  Letty  found  it 
hard  to  see  her  as  a  reality.  Besides,  she  had,  in 
appearance  at  least,  treated  him  badly.  Might  it  not 
easily  have  come  about  that  she,  Letty,  had  caught 
his  heart  in  the  rebound?  She  quite  understood  that 
if  the  prince  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight, 
there  might  be  convulsion  in  his  inner  self  without, 
as  yet,  a  comprehension  on  his  part  of  the  nature  of 
his  passion. 

She  had  reached  this  point  when  Steptoe  entered  the 
189 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

library  on  one  of  his  endless  tasks  of  re-arranging 
that  which  seemed  to  be  in  sufficiently  good  order. 
Putting  the  big  desk  to  rights  he  said  over  his 
shoulder : 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  tell  madam  as  she's  to  'ave  a 
caller  this  afternoon." 

Letty  sprang  up  in  alarm.    "A — what?*' 

"A  lydy  what'll  myke  a  call.  Oh,  madam  don't  need 
to  be  af ryde.  She's  an  old  friend  o'  Mr.  Rash's,  and'U 
want,  no  doubt,  to  be  a  friend  o'  madam  too." 

"But  what  does  she  know  about  me?" 

"Mr.  Rash  must  'a  told  'er.  She  spoke  to  me  just 
now  on  the  telephone,  and  seemed  to  know  everything. 
She  said  she'd  be  'ere  this  afternoon  about  four-thirty, 
if  madam'd  be  so  good  as  to  give  'er  a  cup  o'  tea." 

"Me?" 

Having  invented  the  cup  of  tea  for  his  own  pur- 
pose Steptoe  went  on  to  explain  further.  "It's  what 
the  'igh  lydies  mostly  gives  each  other  about  'alf 
past  four  or  five  o'clock,  and  madam  couldn't  homit  it 
without  seemin'  as  if  she  didn't  know  what's  what. 
It'll  be  very  important  for  madam  to  tyke  'er  position 
from  the  start.  If  the  lydy  is  comin'  friendly  like 
she'd  be  'urt  if  madam  wasn't  friendly  too." 

Letty  had  seen  the  giving  and  taking  of  tea  in  more 
than  one  scene  in  the  movies,  and  had  also,  from  a 
discreet  corner,  witnessed  the  enacting  of  it  right  in  the 
"set"  on  the  studio  lot.  She  remembered  one  time  in 
particular  when  Lucillne  Lynch,  the  star  in  Our 
Crimson  Sins,  had  driven  Frank  Redgar,  the  director, 
almost  out  of  his  senses  by  her  inability  to  get  the 
right  turn  of  the  wrist.    Letty,  too,  had  been  almost 

190 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

out  of  her  senses  with  the  longing  to  be  in  Luciline 
Lynch's  place,  to  do  the  thing  in  what  was  obviously 
the  way.  But  now  that  she  was  confronted  with  the 
opportunity  in  peal  life  she  saw  the  situation  otherwise. 

"And  I  won't  be  able  to  talk  right,"  was  the  diffi- 
culty she  raised  next. 

"That'll  be  a  chance  for  madam  to  listen  and  ketch 
on.  She's  horfly  quick,  madam  is,  and  by  listenin'  to 
Miss  Walbrook,  that's  the  lydy's  nyme,  and  listenin* 
to  'erself — "  He  broke  off  to  emphasize  this  line  of 
suggestion — "it's  listenin'  to  'erself  that'll  'elp  madam 
most.  It's  a  thing  as  'ardly  no  one  does.  If  they  did 
they'd  be  'orrified  at  their  squawky  voices  and  bad 
pemotmciation.  If  I  didn't  listen  to  myself,  why,  I'd 
talk  as  bad  as  anyone,  but — Well,  as  I  sye,  this'U 
give  madam  a  chance.  All  the  time  what  Miss  Wal- 
brook IS  speakin'  madam  can  be  listenin'  to  'er  and 
listenin'  to  'erself  too,  and  if  she  mykes  mistykes  this 
time  she'll  myke  fewer  the  next." 

Letty  was  pondering  these  hints  as  he  continued. 

"Now  if  madam  wouldn't  think  me  steppin'  out  of 
my  plyce  I'd  suggest  that  me  and  'er  'as  a  little  tea 
of  our  own  like — right  now — in  the  drorin'  room — 
and  I'll  be  Miss  Walbrook— and  William'll  be  William 
— ^and  madam'U  be  madam — and  we'll  get  it  letter- 
perfect  before  'and,  just  as  with  Mary  Ann  Courage 
and  Jyne." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  Letty  was  already  wear- 
ing the  white  filmy  thing  with  the  copper-sash,  buried 
with  solemn  rites  on  the  previous  night,  but  disin- 
terred that  morning,  which  did  very  well  as  a  tea- 
gown.     Steptoe  placed  her  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa 

191 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

which  the  lyte  Mrs.  Allerton  had  generally  occupied 
when  "receivin'  company",  and  William  brought  in 
the  tea-equipage  on  a  gorgeous  silver  tray. 

Before  he  did  this  it  had  been  necessary  to  school 
William  to  his  part,  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  car- 
ried out  with  becoming  gravity.  Any  reserves  he 
might  have  felt  were  expressed  to  Golightly  by  a 
wink  behind  Steptoe's  back  before  he  left  the  kitchen. 
The  wink  was  the  more  expressive  owing  to  the  fact 
that  Golightly  and  William  had  already  summed  up 
the  old  fellow  as  "balmy  on  the  bean,"  while  their  part 
was  to  humor  him.  Plain  as  a  bursting  shell  seemed 
to  William  Miss  Gravely's  position  in  the  household, 
and  Steptoe's  chivalry  toward  her  an  eccentricity 
which  a  sense  of  humor  could  enjoy.  Otherwise  they 
justified  his  reading  of  the  fundamental  non-morality 
of  men,  in  bringing  no  condemnation  to  bear  on  any- 
one concerned.  Being  themselves  two  almost  incapaci- 
tated heroes,  with  jobs  likely  to  prove  "soft,"  it  was 
wise,  they  felt,  to  enter  into  Steptoe's  comedy.  At 
half  past  ten  in  the  morning,  therefore,  Golightly  pre- 
pared tea  and  buttered  toast,  while  William  arranged 
the  tea-tray  with  those  over-magnificent  appointments 
which  had  been  "the  lyte  Mrs.  Allerton's  tyste." 

From  her  corner  of  the  sofa  Letty  heard  the  butler 
announce,  in  a  voice  stately  but  not  stentorian :  "Miss 
Barbara  Walbrook." 

He  was  so  near  the  door  that  to  step  out  and  step 
in  again  was  the  work  of  a  second.  In  stepping  in 
again  he  trod  daintily,  wriggling  the  back  part  of  his 
person,  better  to  simulate  the  feminine.  In  order 
that  Letty  should  nowhere  be  caught  unaware  he  put 

192 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

out  his  hand  languidly,  back  upward,  as  princesses  do 
when  they  expect  it  to  be  kissed. 

"So  delighted  to  find  you  at  'ome,  Mrs.  Allerton. 
It's  such  a  very  fine  dye  I  was  sure  as  you'd  be  out." 

Rising  from  her  corner  Letty  shook  the  relaxed 
hand  as  she  might  have  shaken  a  dog's  tail.  "Very 
pleased  to  meet  you." 

From  the  histrionic  Steptoe  lapsed  at  once  into  the 
critical.  "I  think  if  madam  was  to  sye,  *So  glad  to  be 
at  'ome,  Miss  Walbrook;  do  let  me  ring  for  tea,'  it'd 
be  more  like  the  lyte  Mrs.  Allerton." 

Obediently  Letty  repeated  this  formula,  had  the 
bell  pointed  out  to  her,  and  rang.  The  ladies  having 
seated  themselves.  Miss  Walbrook  continued  to  im- 
provise on  the  subject  of  the  weather. 

"Some  o'  these  October  dyes'll  be  just  like  summer 
time !  and  then  agyne  there'll  be  a  nip  in  the  wind  as'll 
fairly  freeze  you.  A  good  time  o'  year  to  get  out  your 
furs,  and  I'm  sure  I  'ope  as  'ow  the  moths  'aven't 
gone  and  got  at  'em.  Horfly  nasty  things  them  moths. 
They  sye  as  everything  in  the  world  'as  a  use;  but 
I'm  sure  I  don't  see  what  use  there  is  for  moths, 
eatin'  'oles  in  the  seats  of  gentlemen's  trousers,  no 
matter  what  you  do  to  keep  the  coat-closet  aired — 
and  everything  like  that.  What  do  you  sye,  Mrs. 
Allerton?" 

Letty  was  relieved  of  the  necessity  of  answering 
by  the  entrance  of  William  with  the  tray,  after  which 
her  task  became  easier.  Used  to  making  "a  good  cup 
of  tea"  in  an  ordinary  way,  the  doing  it  with  this  for- 
mal ceremoniousness  was  only  a  matter  of  revision. 
As  if  it  was  yesterday  she  recalled  the  instructions 

193 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

given  to  Luciline  Lynch,  'Lemon? — cream?— one 
lump? — two  lumps?"  so  that  Miss  Walbrook  was 
startled  by  her  readiness.  She,  Miss  Walbrook,  was 
betrayed,  in  fact,  into  some  confusion  of  personality, 
stating  that  she  would  have  cream  and  no  sugar,  and 
that  furthermore  Englishmen  like  herself  'ardly  ever 
took  lemon  in  their  tea,  and  in  her  opinion  no  one  ever 
did  to  whom  the  tea-drinking  'abit  was  'abitual. 

"It's  a  question  of  tyste,"  Miss  Walbrook  continued, 
sipping  with  a  soft  siffling  noise  in  the  way  he  con- 
sidered to  be  ladylike.  "Them  that  'as  drunk  tea 
with  their  mother's  milk,  as  you  might  sye,  '11  tyke 
cream  and  sugar,  one  or  both ;  but  them  that  'as  picked 
up  the  'abit  in  Ijrter  life  '11  often  condescend  to  lemon." 

What  the  rehearsal  did  for  Letty  was  to  make  the 
mechanical  task  familiar,  while  she  concentrated  her 
attention  on  Miss  Walbrook. 

It  has  to  be  admitted  that  to  Barbara  Walbrook 
Letty  was  a  shock.  Having  worked  for  two  years  in 
the  Bleary  Street  Settlement  she  had  her  preconceived 
ideas  of  what  she  was  to  find,  and  she  found  something 
so  different  that  her  first  consciousness  was  that  of 
being  "sold." 

Steptoe  had  received  her  at  the  door,  and  having 
ushered  her  into  the  drawing-room  announced,  "Miss 
Barbara  Walbrook,"  as  if  she  had  been  calling  on  a 
duchess.  From  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  back  draw- 
ing-room a  small  lithe  figure  came  forward  a  step  or 
two.  The  small  lithe  figure  was  wearing  a  tea-gown 
•f  which  so  practiced  an  eye  as  Miss  Walbrook's 
could  not  but  estimate  the  provenance  and  value,  while 
a  sweet  voice  said : 

194 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Fm  so  glad  to  be  at  home,  Miss  Walbrook.  Do 
let  me  ring  for  tea." 

Before  a  protest  could  be  voiced  the  bell  had  been 
rung,  so  that  Miss  Walbrook  found  herself  sitting 
in  the  chair  Steptoe  had  used  in  the  morning,  and 
listening  to  her  hostess  as  you  listen  to  people  in  a 
dream. 

"Beautiful  weather  for  October,  isn't  it?  Some  of 
these  October  days'll  be  just  like  summer  time.  And 
then  again  there'll  be  a  nip  in  the  wind  that'll  fairly 
freeze  you.  A  good  time  of  year  to  get  out  your  furs, 
isn't  it  ?  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  the  moths  ain't — haven't 
— got  at  them.    Awfully  nasty  things  moths " 

Letty's  further  efforts  were  interrupted  by  William 
bearing  the  tray  as  he  had  borne  it  in  the  morning, 
and  in  the  minutes  of  silence  while  he  placed  it  Miss 
Walbrook  could  go  through  the  mental  process  known 
as  pulling  oneself  together. 

But  she  couldn't  pull  herself  together  without  a 
sense  of  outrage.  She  had  expected  to  feel  shame, 
vicariously  for  Rash ;  she  had  not  expected  to  be  asked 
to  take  part  in  a  horrible  bit  of  play-acting.  This 
dressing-up ;  this  mock  hospitality ;  this  desecration  of 
the  things  which  "dear  Mrs.  Allerton"  had  used ;  this 
mingling  of  ignorance  and  pretentiousness,  inspired 
a  rage  prompting  her  to  fling  the  back  of  her  hand  at 
the  ridiculous  creature's  face.  She  couldn't  do  that, 
of  course.  She  couldn't  even  express  herself  as  she 
felt.  She  had  come  on  a  mission,  and  she  must  carry 
out  that  mission ;  and  to  carry  out  the  mission  she  must 
be  as  suave  as  her  indignation  would  allow  of.  She 
was  morally  the  mistress  of  this  house.    Rash  and  all 

195 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Rash  owned  belonged  to  her.    To  see  this  strumpet 
sitting  in  her  place.  .  .  . 

It  did  nothing  to  calm  her  that  while  she  was  press- 
ing Rash's  ring  into  her  flesh,  beneath  her  glove,  this 
vile  thing  was  wearing  a  plain  gold  band,  just  as  if 
she  was  married.  She  could  understand  that  if  they 
had  absurdly  walked  through  an  absurd  ceremony  the 
absurd  minister  who  performed  it  might  have  insisted 
on  this  absurd  symbol;  but  it  should  have  been 
snatched  from  the  creature's  hand  the  minute  the  busi- 
ness was  ended.  They  owed  that  to  her.  Hers  was 
the  only  claim  Rash  had  to  consider,  and  to  allow  this 
farce  to  be  enacted  beneath  his  roof.  .  .  , 

But  she  remembered  that  Letty  didn't  know  who 
she  was,  or  why  she  had  come,  or  the  degree  to  which 
she,  Barbara  Walbrook,  saw  through  this  foolery. 

Letty  repeated  her  little  formula :  "Lemon  ? — 
cream? — one  lump? — ^two  lumps?"  though  before  she 
reached  the  end  of  it  her  voice  began  to  fail.  Catch- 
ing the  hostility  in  the  other  woman's  bearing,  she 
felt  it  the  more  acutely  because  in  style,  dress,  and 
carriage  this  was  the  model  she  would  have  chosen  for 
herself. 

Miss  Walbrook  waved  hospitality  aside.  "Thank 
you,  no;  nothing  in  the  way  of  tea."  She  nodded  over 
her  shoulder  towards  William's  retreating  form. 
"Who's  that  man?" 

Her  tone  was  that  of  a  person  with  the  right  to 
inquire.  Letty  didn't  question  that  right,  knowing  the 
extent  to  which  she  herself  was  an  usurper.  "His 
name  is  William." 

"How  did  he  come  here  ?" 
196 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"Where  are  Nettie  and  Jane  ?" 

"They've— they've  left." 

"Left?    Why?" 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"And  has  Mrs.  Courage  left  too?" 

Letty  nodded,  the  damask  flush  flooding  her  cheeks 
darkly. 

"When?    Since — since  you  came?" 

Letty  nodded  again.  She  knew  now  that  this  was 
the  bar  of  social  judgment  of  which  she  had  been 
afraid. 

The  social  judge  continued.  "That  must  be  very 
hard  on  Mr.  Allerton." 

Letty  bowed  her  head.     "I  suppose  it  is.'* 

"He's  not  used  to  new  people  about  him,  and  it's 
not  good  for  him.  I  don't  know  whether  you've  seen 
enough  of  him  to  know  that  he's  something  of  an 
invalid." 

"I  know — "  she  touched  her  forehead — "that  he's 
sick  up  here." 

"Oh,  do  you?  Then  I  shouldn't  have  thought  that 
you'd  have — "  but  she  dropped  this  line  to  take  up 
another.  "Yes,  he's  always  been  so.  When  he  was 
a  boy  they  were  afraid  he  might  be  epileptic;  and 
though  he  never  was  as  bad  as  that  he's  always  needed 
to  be  taken  care  of.  He  can  do  very  wild  and  foolish 
things  as — as  you've  discovered  for  yourself." 

Letty  felt  herself  now  a  little  shameful  lump  of 
misery.  This  woman  was  so  experienced,  so  right. 
She  spoke  with  a  decision  and  an  authority  whicK 
made  love  at  first  sight  a  fancy  to  blush  at.    Letty 

197 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

could  say  nothing  because  there  was  nothing  to  say, 
and  meanwhile  the  determined  voice  went  on. 

"It's  terrible  for  a  man  like  him  to  make  such  a 
mistake,  because  being  what  he  is  he  can't  grapple  with 
it  as  a  stronger  or  a  coarser  man  would  do." 

But  here  Letty  saw  something  that  might  be  faintly 
pleaded  in  her  own  defence.  "He  says  he  wouldn't 
ha'  made  the  mistake  if  that — ^that  other  girl  hadn't 
been  crazy." 

Barbara  drew  herself  up.  "Did  he — did  he  say 
that?" 

"He  said  something  like  it.  He  said  she  went  off 
the  hooks,  just  like  he  did  himself."  She  raised  her 
eyes.    "Do  you  know  her,  Miss  Walbrook?" 

"Yes,  I  know  her." 

"She  must  be  an  awful  fool." 

Barbara  prayed  for  patience.  "What — ^what  makes 
you  say  so  ?" 

"Oh,  just  what  he's  said." 

"And  what  has  he  said?  Has  he  talked  about  her 
to  you?" 

"He  hasn't  talked  about  her.  He's  jus.t — just  let 
things  out." 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"Only  that  sort."  She  added,  as  if  to  herself :  "I 
don't  believe  he  thinks  much  of  her." 

Barbara's  self-control  was  miraculous.  "I've  under- 
stood that  he  was  very  much  in  love  with  her." 

"Well,  perhaps  he  is."  Letty's  little  movement  of 
the  shoulders  hinted  that  an  expert  wouldn't  be  of 
this  opinion.    "He  may  think  he  is,  anyhow." 

"But  if  he  thinks  he  is " 

198 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Letty's  eyes  rested  on  her  visitor  with  their  com- 
pelling candor.  "I  don't  believe  men  know  much 
about  love,  do  you,  Miss  Walbrook?" 

"It  depends.  All  men  haven't  had  as  much  experi- 
ence of  it  as  I  suppose  you've  had " 

"Oh,  I  haven't  had  any."  The  candor  of  the  eyes 
was  now  in  the  whole  of  the  truthful  face.  "Nobody 
was  ever  in  love  with  me — never.  I  never  had  a 
fella — ^nor  nothing." 

In  spite  of  herself  Barbara  believed  this.  She 
couldn't  help  herself.  She  could  hear  Rash  saying 
that  whatever  else  was  wrong  in  the  ridiculous  business 
the  girl  herself  was  straight.  All  the  same  the  discus- 
sion was  beneath  her.  It  was  beneath  her  to  listen  to 
opinions  of  herself  coming  from  such  a  source.  If 
Rash  didn't  "think  much  of  her"  there  was  something 
to  "have  out"  with  him,  not  with  this  little  street-waif 
dressed  up  with  this  ludicrous  mummery.  The  sooner 
she  ended  the  business  on  which  she  had  come  the 
sooner  she  would  get  a  legitimate  outlet  for  the  pas- 
sion of  jealousy  and  rage  consuming  her. 

"But  we're  wandering  away  from  my  errand.  I 
won't  pretend  that  I've  come  of  my  own  accord.  I'm 
a  very  old  friend  of  Mr.  Allerton's,  and  he's  asked 
me — or  practically  asked  me — ^to  come  and  find 
out " 

For  what  she  was  to  come  and  find  out  she  lacked  for 
a  minute  the  right  word,  and  so  held  up  the  sentence. 

"What  I'd  take  to  let  him  off?" 

The  form  of  expression  was  so  crude  that  once  more 
Barbara  was  startled.  "Well,  that's  what  it  would 
come  to." 

199 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"But  I've  told  him  already  that — ^that  I  want  to  let 
him  off  anyhow." 

"Yes  ?    And  on  what  terms  ?" 

"I  don't  want  any  terms." 

"Oh,  but  there  must  be  terms.  He  couldn't  let  you 
doit " 

"He  could  let  me  do  it  for  him,  couldn't  he?  I'd 
go  through  fire,  if  it'd  make  him  a  bit  more  com- 
fortable than  he  is." 

Barbara  could  not  believe  her  ears.  "Do  you  want 
me  to  understand  that ?" 

"That  I'll  do  whatever  will  make  him  happy  just 
to  make  him  happy?  Yes.  That's  it.  He  didn't  need 
to  send  no  one — to  send  anyone — to  ask  me,  because 
I've  told  him  so  already.  He  wants  me  to  get  out. 
Well,  I'm  ready  to  get  out.  He  wants  me  to  go  to 
the  bad.    Well,  I'm  ready " 

"Yes ;  he  understands  all  that.  But,  don't  you  see  ? 
a  man  in  his  position  couldn't  take  such  a  sacrifice 
from  a  girl  in  yours " 

"Unless  he  pays  me  for  it  in  cash." 

"That's  putting  it  in  a  nutshell.  If  you  owned  a 
house,  for  instance,  and  I  wanted  it,  I'd  buy  it  from 
you  and  pay  you  for  it;  but  I  couldn't  take  it  as  a 
gift,  no  matter  how  liberal  you  were  nor  how  much  I 
needed  it," 

"I  can  see  that  about  a  house;  but  your  own  self 
is  different.  I  could  sell  a  house  when  I  couldn't  sell — 
myself." 

"Oh,  but  would  you  call  that  selling  yourself?" 

"It'd  be  selling  myself — the  way  I  look  at  it.  When 
I'm  so  ready  to  do  what  he  wants  I  can't  see  why  he 

200 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

don't  let  me."  She  added,  tearfully:  "Did  he  tell 
you  about  this  morning?" 

She  nodded.    "Yes,  he  told  me  about  that." 

"Well,  I  would  have  gone  then  if — if  I'd  known 
how  to  work  the  door." 

"Oh,  that's  easy  enough." 

"Do  you  know?" 

"Why,  yes." 

"Will  you  show  me  ?" 

Miss  Walbrook  rose.  "It's  so  simple."  She  con- 
tinued, as  they  went  toward  the  door :  "You  see,  Mr. 
Allerton's  mother  always  kept  a  lot  of  valuable  jewelry 
in  the  house,  and  she  was  afraid  of  burglars.  She 
had  the  most  wonderful  pearls.  I  suppose  Mr.  Aller- 
ton  has  them  still,  locked  away  in  some  bank.  Bur- 
glars would  never  come  in  by  the  front  door,  my  aunt 
used  to  tell  her,  but — "  They  reached  the  door  itself. 
"Now,  you  see,  there's  a  common  lock,  a  bolt,  and  a 
chain " 

Letty  explained  that  she  had  discovered  them 
already. 

"But,  you  see  these  two  little  brass  knobs  over  here  ? 
That's  the  trick.  You  push  this  one  this  way,  and  that 
one  that  way,  and  the  door  is  locked  with  an  extra 
double  lock,  which  hardly  anyone  would  suspect. 
See?" 

She  shook  the  door  which  resisted  as  it  had  resisted 
Letty  in  the  morning, 

"Now !  You  push  that  one  this  way,  and  this  one 
that  way — and  there  you  are !" 

She  opened  the  door  to  show  how  easily  the  thing 
could  be  done ;  and  the  door  being  open  she  passed  out. 

201 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

She  had  not  intended  to  go  in  this  way;  but,  after 
all,  was  not  her  mission  accomplished?  It  was  noth- 
ing to  her  whether  this  girl  accepted  money,  or  whether 
she  did  not.  The  one  thing  essential  was  that  she 
should  take  herself  away;  and  if  she  was  sincere  in 
what  she  said  she  had  now  the  means  of  doing  it. 
Without  troubling  herself  to  take  her  leave  Miss  Wal- 
brook  went  down  the  steps. 

Before  turning  toward  Fifth  Avenue  she  glanced 
back.  Letty  was  standing  in  the  open  doorway,  her 
flaming  eyes  wide,  her  expression  puzzled  and 
wounded.  "It's  nothing  to  me,"  Barbara  repeated  to 
herself  firmly;  but  because  she  was  a  lady,  as  she 
imderstood  the  word  lady,  almost  before  she  was  a 
woman,  she  smiled  faintly,  with  a  distant,  and  yet  not 
discourteous,  inclination  of  the  head. 


Chapter  XVII 

IT  was  because  she  was  a  lady,  as  she  understood 
the  word  lady,  that  by  the  time  she  had  walked  the 
few  steps  into  Fifth  Avenue  Miss  Walbrook  already 
felt  the  inner  reproach  of  having  done  something 
mean.  To  do  anything  mean  was  so  strange  to  her 
that  she  didn't  at  first  recognize  the  sensation.  She 
only  found  herself  repeating  two  words,  and  repeating 
them  uneasily:   '' Noblesse  oblige T 

Nevertheless,  on  the  principle  that  all's  fair  in  love 
and  war,  she  fought  this  off.  "Either  she  must  go  or 
I  must."  That  she  herself  should  go  was  not  to  be 
considered;  therefore  the  other  must  go,  and  by  the 
shortest  way.  The  shortest  way  was  the  way  she 
had  shown  her,  and  which  the  girl  herself  was  desirous 
to  take.    There  was  no  more  ihan  that  to  the  situation. 

There  was  no  more  than  that  to  the  situation  unless 
it  was  that  the  strong  was  taking  a  poor  advantage 
of  the  weak.  But  then,  why  shouldn't  the  strong  take 
any  advantage  it  possessed  ?  What  otherwise  was  the 
use  of  being  strong?  The  strong  prevailed,  and  the 
weak  went  under.  That  was  the  law  of  life.  To  sup- 
pose that  the  weak  must  prevail  because  it  was  weak 
was  sheer  sentimentality.  All  the  same,  those  two 
inconvenient  words  kept  dinning  in  her  ears:  "No- 
blesse oblige!" 

She  began  to  question  the  honesty  which  in  Letty's 
presence  had  oonvinced  her.  It  was  probably  not 
M  203 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

honesty  at  all.  She  had  known  girls  in  the  Bleary 
Street  Settlement  who  could  persuade  her  that  black 
was  white,  but  who  had  proved  on  further  knowledge 
to  be  lying  all  round  the  compass.  When  it  wasn't 
lying  it  was  bluff.  It  was  possible  that  Letty  was 
only  bluffing,  that  in  her  pretense  at  magnanimity  she 
was  simply  scheming  for  a  bigger  price.  In  that  case 
she,  Barbara,  had  called  the  bluif  very  skilfully.  She 
had  put  her  in  a  position  in  which  she  could  be  taken 
at  her  word.  Since  she  was  ready  to  go,  she  could  go. 
Since  she  was  ready  to  go  to  the  bad.  .  .  . 

Miss  Walbrook  was  not  prim.  She  knew  too  much 
of  the  world  to  be  easily  shocked,  in  the  old  conven- 
tional sense.  Besides,  her  Bleary  Street  work  had 
brought  her  into  contact  with  girls  who  had  gone  to 
the  bad,  and  she  had  not  found  them  different  from 
other  girls.    If  she  hadn't  known.  .  .  . 

She  could  contemplate  without  horror,  therefore, 
Letty 's  taking  desperate  steps — if  indeed  she  hadn't 
taken  them  long  ago — and  yet  she  herself  didn't  want 
to  be  involved  in  the  proceeding.  It  was  one  thing  to 
view  an  unfortunate  situation  from  which  you  stood 
detached,  and  another  to  be  in  a  certain  sense  the 
cause  of  it.  She  would  not  really  be  the  cause  of  it, 
whatever  the  girl  did,  since  she,  the  girl,  was  a  free 
agent,  and  of  an  age  to  know  her  own  mind.  More- 
over, the  secret  of  the  door  was  one  which  she  couldn't 
help  finding  out  in  any  case.  She,  Miss  Walbrook, 
could  dismiss  these  scruples;  and  yet  there  was  that 
uncomfortable  sing-song  humming  through  her  brain : 
"Noblesse  oblige!    Noblesse  oblige!" 

"I  must  get  rid  of  it,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  Wild- 
204 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

goose  admitted  her.  "Fve  got  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
I  can't  have  it  on  my  mind." 

Going  to  the  telephone  before  she  had  so  much  as 
taken  off  her  gloves  she  was  answered  by  Steptoe. 
"This  is  Miss  Walbrook  again,  Steptoe.  I  should 
like  to  speak  to — to  the  young  woman." 

Steptoe  who  had  found  Letty  crying  after  Miss 
Walbrook's  departure  answered  with  resentful  polite- 
ness. "I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Allerton,  miss.  She  may  be 
aible  to  come  to  the  telephone." 

"Ye-es?"  came  later,  in  a  feeble,  teary  voice. 

"This  is  Miss  Walbrook  again.  I'm  sorry  to 
trouble  you  the  second  time." 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter." 

"I  merely  wanted  to  say,  what  perhaps  I  should  have 
said  before  I  left,  that  I  hope  you  won't — won't  tise 
the  information  I  gave  you  as  I  was  leaving — at  any 
rate  not  at  once." 

"Do  you  mean  the  door?" 

"Exactly.  I  was  afraid  after  I  came  away  that  you 
might  do  something  in  a  hurry " 

"It'll  have  to  be  in  a  hurry  if  I  do  it  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  don't  see  that.  In  any  case,  I'd — I'd  think 
it  over.  Perhaps  we  could  have  another  talk  about  it, 
and  then " 

Something  was  said  which  sounded  like  a  faint, 
"Very  well,"  so  that  Barbara  put  up  the  receiver. 

Her  conscience  relieved  she  could  open  the  dams 
keeping  back  the  fiercer  tides  of  her  anger.  Rash  had 
talked  about  her  to  this  girl!  He  had  given  her  to 
understand  that  she  was  a  fool !  He  had  allowed  it  to 
appear  that  "he  didn't  think  much  of  her !"    No  matter 

205 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

what  he  had  said,  the  girl  had  been  able  to  make  these 
inferences.  What  was  more,  these  inferences  might 
be  true.  Perhaps  he  didn't  think  much  of  her !  Per- 
haps he  only  thought  he  was  in  love  with  her!  The 
idea  was  so  terrible  that  it  stilled  her,  as  approaching 
seismic  storm  will  still  the  elements.  She  moved  about 
the  drawing-room,  taking  off  her  gloves,  her  veil,  her 
hat,  and  laying  them  together  on  a  table,  as  if  she 
was  afraid  to  make  a  sound.  She  was  standing  beside 
that  table,  not  knowing  what  to  do  next,  or  where  to 
go,  when  Wildgoose  came  to  the  door  to  announce, 
"Mr.  AUerton." 

"I've  seen  her."  Without  other  form  of  greeting, 
or  moving  from  beside  the  table,  she  picked  up  her 
gloves,  threw  them  down  again,  picked  them  up  again, 
threw  them  down  again,  with  the  nervous  action  of 
the  hands  which  betrayed  suppressed  excitement.  "I 
didn't  believe  her— quite." 

"But  you  didn't  disbelieve  her — wholly?" 

"It's  a  difficult  case." 

"I've  got  you  into  an  awful  scrape,  Barbe." 

She  threw  down  the  gloves  with  special  vigor.  "Oh, 
don't  begin  on  that.  The  scrape's  there.  What  we 
have  to  find  is  the  way  out." 

"Well,  do  you  see  it  any  more  clearly?" 

"Do  you?" 

He  came  near  to  her.  "I  see  this — that  I  can't  let 
her  throw  herself  away  for  me.  I've  been  thinking  it 
over,  and  I  want  to  ask  your  opinion  of  this  plan. 
Let's  sit  down." 

She  thought  his  plan  the  maddest  that  was  ever 
proposed,  and  yet  she  accepted  it.     She  accepted  it 

206 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

because  she  was  suspicious,  jealous,  and  unhappy. 
"It'll  give  me  the  chance  to  watch — and  see"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  he  talked. 

In  his  opinion  Letty  couldn't  take  their  point  of 
view  because  she  was  so  inexperienced.  It  seemed  to 
her  a  simple  thing  to  go  away,  leaving  them  with  the 
responsibilities  of  her  future  on  their  consciences ;  and 
it  would  not  seem  other  than  a  simple  thing  till  she 
saw  life  more  as  they  did.  To  bring  her  to  this  degree 
of  culture  they  must  be  subtle  with  her,  and  patient. 
They  musn't  rush  things.  They  mustn't  let  her  rush 
them.  To  end  the  situation  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
for  happiness  they  must  end  it  at  a  point  where  all 
would  be  best  for  all  concerned.  For  Barbara  and 
himself  nothing  would  be  best  which  was  not  also  best 
for  the  girl.  What  would  be  best  for  the  girl  would  be 
some  degree  of  education,  of  knowledge  of  the  world, 
so  that  she  might  go  back  to  the  life  whence  they  had 
plucked  her  less  likely  to  be  a  prey  to  the  vicious.  In 
that  case,  if  they  supplied  her  with  a  little  income  she 
would  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  would  perhaps 
marry  some  man  in  her  own  class  able  to  take  care  of  her. 

Barbara's  impulse  was  to  cry  out :  "That's  the  most 
preposterous  suggestion  I  ever  heard  of  in  my  life!" 
But  she  controlled  this  quite  reasonable  prompting  be- 
cause another  voice  said  to  her :  "This  will  give  yoa 
the  opportunity  to  keep  an  eye  on  them.  If  he's  not 
true  in  his  love  for  you — if  there  is  an  infatuation  on 
his  part  for  this  common  and  vulgar  creature — ^you'll 
be  able  to  detect  it."  Jealousy  loving  to  suffer  she 
was  willing  to  inflict  torture  on  herself  for  the  sake 
of  catching  him  in  disloyalty. 

207 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Expecting  a  storm,  and  bringing  out  what  he  con- 
sidered his  wise  proposals  with  great  embarrassment, 
Allerton  was  surprised  and  pleased  at  the  sympathetic 
calm  in  which  she  received  them. 

"So  that  you'd  suggest ?" 

"Our  keeping  her  on  a  while  longer,  and  making 
friends  with  her.  I'd  like  it  tremendously  if  you'd  be 
a  friend  to  her,  because  you  could  do  more  for  her  than 
anyone." 

"More  than  you?" 

"Oh,  I'd  do  my  bit  too,"  he  assured  her,  innocently. 
"I  could  put  her  up  to  a  lot  of  things,  seeing  her  every 
day  as  I  should.  But  you're  the  one  I  should  really 
count  on." 

Because  the  words  hurt  fier  more  than  any  she 
could  utter,  she  said,  quietly :  "I  suppose  you  remem- 
ber sometimes  that  after  all  she's  your  wife." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  Knowing  that  he  did  at 
times  remember  it  he  tried  to  deny  it.  "No,  I  don't. 
She's  not.  I  don't  admit  it.  I  don't  acknowledge  it. 
If  you  care  anjrthing  about  me,  Barbe,  you'll  never 
say  that  again." 

He  came  and  knelt  beside  her,  taking  her  hands 
and  kissing  them.  Laying  his  head  in  her  lap,  he 
begged  to  be  caressed,  as  if  he  had  been  a  dog. 

Nevertheless  by  half  past  nine  that  evening  he  was 
at  home,  sitting  by  the  fireside  with  Letty,  and  begin- 
ning his  special  part  in  the  great  experiment. 

"She's  not  my  wife,"  he  kept  repeating  to  himself 
poignantly,  as  he  walked  up  the  Avenue  from  the 
Club;  "she's  not — she's  not.  But  she  is  a  poor  child 
toward  whom  I've  undertaken  grave  responsibilities." 

208 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Because  the  responsibilities  were  grave,  and  she  was 
a  poor  child,  his  attitude  toward  her  began  to  be 
paternal.  It  was  the  more  freely  paternal  because 
Barbe  approved  of  what  he  was  undertaking.  Had  she 
disapproved  he  might  have  undertaken  it  all  the  same, 
but  he  couldn't  have  done  it  with  this  whole-hearted- 
ness.  He  would  have  been  haunted  by  the  fear  of 
her  displeasure ;  whereas  now  he  could  let  himself  go. 

"We  don't  want  to  keep  you  a  prisoner,  or  detain 
you  against  your  will,"  he  said,  with  regard  to  the 
incident  of  the  morning,  "but  if  you'll  stay  with  us  a 
little  longer,  I  think  we  can  convince  you  of  our 
good  intentions." 

"Who's— we?" 

She  shot  the  question  at  him,  as  she  lay  back  in 
her  chair,  the  red  book  in  her  lap.  He  smiled  in- 
wardly at  the  ready  pertinence  with  which  she  went  to 
a  point  he  didn't  care  to  discuss. 

"Well,  then,  suppose  I  said — I?  That'll  do,  won't 
it?" 

She  shot  another  question,  her  flaming  eyes  half 
veiled.    "How  long  would  you  want  me  to  stay?" 

"Suppose  we  didn't  fix  a  time?  Suppose  we  just 
leftit— like  that?" 

The  question  rose  to  her  lips :  "But  in  the  end  I'm 
to  go?"  only,  on  second  thoughts  she  repressed  it. 
She  preferred  that  the  situation  should  be  left  "like 
that,"  since  it  meant  that  she  was  not  at  once  to  be 
separated  from  the  prince.  The  fact  that  she  was 
legally  the  prince's  wife  had  as  little  reality  to  her  as 
to  him.  Could  she  have  had  what  she  yearned  for 
law  or  no  law  would  have  been  the  same  to  her.    But 

209 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

since  she  couldn't  have  that,  it  was  much  that  he 
should  come  like  this  and  sit  with  her  by  the  fire  in 
the  evening. 

He  leaned  forward  and  took  the  book  from  her 
lap.  **What  are  you  reading?  Oh,  this!  I  haven't 
looked  at  it  for  years."  He  glanced  at  the  title.  *'The 
Little  Mermaid!  That  used  to  be  my  favorite.  It 
still  is.  When  I  was  in  Copenhagen  I  went  to  see  the 
little  bronze  mermaid  sitting  on  a  rock  on  the  shore. 
It's  a  memorial  to  Hans  Andersen,  She's  quite  star- 
tling for  a  minute — till  you  know  what  it  is.  Where 
are  you  at?" 

Pointing  out  the  line  at  which  she  had  stopped  her 
hand  touched  his,  but  all  the  consciousness  of  the 
accident  was  on  her  side.  He  seemed  to  notice  noth- 
ing, beginning  to  read  aloud  to  her,  with  no  suspicion 
that  sentiment  existed. 

"Many  an  evening  and  morning  she  rose  to  the 
place  where  she  had  left  the  prince.  She  watched  the 
fruits  in  the  garden  ripen  and  fall ;  she  saw  the  snow 
melt  from  the  high  mountains;  but  the  prince  she 
never  saw,  and  she  came  home  sadder  than  ever.  Her 
one  consolation  was  to  sit  in  her  little  garden,  with 
her  arms  clasped  round  the  marble  statue  which  was 
like  the  prince " 

"That'd  be  me,"  Letty  whispered  to  herself;  "my 
arms  clasped  round  a  marble  statue — like  my  prince — 
but  only  a  marble  statue." 

"Her  flowers  were  neglected,"  AUerton  read  on, 
"and  grew  wild  in  a  luxuriant  tangle  of  stem  and 
blossom,  reaching  the  branches  of  the  willow-tree,  and 
making  the  whole  place  dark  and  dim.     At  last  she 

2IO 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

could  bear  it  no  longer  and  she  told  one  of  her  sis- 
ters  " 

"I  wouldn't  tell  my  sister,  if  I  had  one,"  Letty 
assured  herself.  "I'd  never  tell  no  one.  It's  more 
like  my  own  secret  when  I  keep  it  to  myself.  No- 
body'll  ever  know — not  even  him." 

"The  other  sisters  learned  the  story  then,  but  they 
told  it  to  no  one  but  a  few  other  mermaids,  who  told 
it  to  their  intimate  friends.  One  of  these  friends 
knew  who  the  prince  was,  and  told  the  princess  where 
he  came  from  and  where  his  kingdom  lay.  Now  she 
knew  where  he  lived;  and  many  a  night  she  spent 
there,  floating  on  the  water.  She  ventured  nearer  to 
the  land  than  any  of  her  sisters  had  done.  She 
swam  up  the  narrow  lagoon,  under  the  carved 
marble  balcony;  and  there  she  sat  and  watched  the 
prince  when  he  thought  himself  alone  in  the  moon- 
light. She  remembered  how  his  head  had  rested 
on  her  breast,  and  how  she  had  kissed  his  brow;  but 
he  would  never  know,  and  could  not  even  dream 
of  her." 

Letty  had  not  kissed  her  prince's  brow,  but  she  had 
kissed  his  feet;  but  he  would  never  know  that,  and 
would  dream  of  her  no  more  than  this  other  prince 
of  the  little  thing  who  loved  him. 

Allerton  continued  to  read  on,  partly  because  the 
old  tale  came  back  to  him  with  its  enchanting  loveli- 
ness, partly  because  reading  aloud  would  be  a  feature 
of  his  educational  scheme,  and  partly  because  it 
soothed  him  to  be  doing  it.  He  could  never  read  to 
Barbara.  Once,  when  he  tried  it,  the  sound  of  his 
voice  and  the  monotony  of  his  cadences,  so  got  on  her 

211 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

nerves  that  she  stopped  him  in  the  middle  of  a  word. 
But  this  girl  with  her  uncritical  mind,  and  her  grati- 
tude for  small  bits  of  kindliness,  gave  him  confidence 
in  himself  by  her  rapt  way  of  listening. 

She  did  listen  raptly,  since  a  prince's  reading  must 
always  be  more  arresting  than  that  of  ordinary 
mortals,  and  also  because,  both  consciously  and  sub- 
consciously, she  was  taking  his  pronunciation  as  a 
standard. 

And  just  at  this  minute  her  name  was  under  dis- 
cussion in  a  brilliant  gathering  at  The  Hindoo  Lantern, 
in  another  quarter  of  New  Yorlc. 

If  you  know  The  Hindoo  Lantern  you  know  how 
much  it  depends  on  atmosphere.  Once  a  disused  ware- 
house in  a  section  of  the  city  which  commerce  had 
forsaken,  the  enthusiasm  for  the  dance  which  arose 
about  1910,  has  made  It  a  temple.  It  gains,  too,  by 
being  a  temple  of  the  esoteric.  The  Hindoo  Lantern 
is  not  everybody's  lantern,  and  does  not  swing  in  the 
open  vulgar  street.  You  might  live  in  New  York  a 
hundred  years  and  unless  you  were  one  of  the  initi- 
ated and  privileged,  you  might  never  know  of  its 
existence. 

You  could  not  so  much  as  approach  it  were  it  not 
first  explained  to  you  what  you  ought  to  do.  You 
must  pass  through  a  tobacconist's,  which  from  the 
street  looks  like  any  other  tobacconist's,  after  which 
you  traverse  a  yard,  which  looks  like  any  other  yard, 
except  that  it  is  bounded  by  a  wall  in  which  there  is 
a  small  and  unobtrusive  door.  Beside  the  small  and 
unobtrusive  door  there  hangs  a  bell-rope,  of  the  ancient 

212 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

kind  suggesting  the  convent  or  the  Orient.  The  bell- 
rope  pulls  a  bell;  the  bell  clangs  overhead;  the  door 
is  opened  cautiously  by  a  Hindoo  lad,  or,  as  some  say, 
a  mulatto  boy  dressed  as  a  Hindoo.  If  you  are  with 
a  friend  of  the  institution  you  will  be  admitted  without 
more  inspection;  but  should  you  be  a  stranger  there 
will  be  a  scrutiny  of  your  passports.  Assuming,  how- 
ever, that  you  go  in,  you  will  find  a  small  courtyard, 
in  which  at  last  The  Hindoo  Lantern  hangs  mystic, 
suggestive,  in  oriental  iron-work,  and  panels  of  col- 
ored glass. 

Having  passed  beneath  this  symbol  you  will  enter 
an  antechamber  rich  in  the  magic  of  the  East.  In  a 
reverent  obscurity  you  will  find  Buddha  on  the  right, 
Vishnu  on  the  left,  with  flowers  set  before  the  one, 
while  incense  burns  before  the  other.  Somewhere  in 
the  darkness  an  Oriental  woman  will  be  seated  on  the 
groimd,  twanging  on  a  sarabar,  and  now  and  then 
crooning  a  chant  of  invitation  to  come  and  share  in 
darksome  rites.  You  will  thus  be  "worked  up"  to  a 
sense  of  the  mysterious  before  you  pass  the  third  gate 
of  privilege  into  the  shrine  itself. 

Here  you  will  discover  the  large  empty  oval  of  floor, 
surrounded  by  little  tables  for  segregation  and  refresh- 
ment, with  which  the  past  ten  years  have  made  us 
familiar.  The  place  will  be  buzzing  with  the  hum  of 
voices,  merry  with  duologues  of  laughter,  and  steam- 
ing with  tobacco  smoke.  A  jazz-band  will  strike  up, 
coughing  out  the  nauseated,  retching  intervals  so 
stimulating  to  our  feet,  and  two  by  two,  in  driblets, 
streamlets,  and  lastly  in  a  volume,  the  guests  will  take 
the  floor, 

ai3 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

In  the  way  of  "steps"  all  the  latest  will  be  on  ex- 
hibition. You  will  see  the  cow-trot,  the  rabbit-jump, 
the  broom-stick,  the  washerwoman's  dip.  Everyone 
who  is  anyone  will  be  here,  if  not  on  one  night  then 
on  another,  in  a  jovial  fraternity  steeped  in  the  spirit 
of  democracy.  Revelry  will  be  sustained  on  lemonade 
and  a  resinous  astringent  known  locally  as  beer,  while 
a  sense  of  doing  the  forbidden  will  be  in  the  air.  For 
commercial  reasons  it  will  be  needful  to  keep  it  in  the 
air,  since  in  the  proceedings  themselves  there  will  be 
nothing  more  occult,  or  more  inciting  to  iniquity,  than 
a  kindergarten  game. 

Hither  Mr.  Gorry  Larrabin  had  brought  Made- 
moiselle Odette  Coucoul,  to  teach  her  the  new  dances. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  just  led  her  back  to  their 
little  table,  inconspicuously  placed  in  the  front  row, 
after  putting  her  through  the  paces  of  the  camel-step. 
Mademoiselle  had  found  it  entrancing,  so  much  more 
novel  in  the  motion  than  the  antiquated  valses  she  had 
danced  in  France.  Mr.  Larrabin  had  retreated  like 
a  camel  walking  backwards,  while  she  had  advanced 
like  a  camel  going  forwards.  The  art  was  in  lifting 
the  foot  quite  high,  throwing  it  slightly  backwards, 
and  setting  it  down  with  a  delicate  deliberation,  while 
you  craned  the  neck  before  you  with  a  shake  of  the 
Adam's  apple.  To  incite  you  to  produce  this  effect 
the  jazz-band  urged  you  onward  with  a  sob,  a  gulp, 
a  moan,  an  effect  of  strangulation,  till  finally  it  tore 
tip  the  seat  of  your  being  as  if  you  had  been  suddenly 
struck  sea-sick. 

"Mon  Dieu,  but  it  is  lofely,*'  mademoiselle  gurgled, 
laughing  in  her  breathlessness.    "It  is  terr-i-bul  to  call 

214 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

no  one  a  camel — un  chameau — in  France;  but  here 
am  I  a — chameau!" 

Gorry  took  this  with  puzzled  amusement.  "What's 
the  matter  with  calling  anyone  a  camel?  I  don't  see 
any  harm  in  that." 

Mademoiselle  hid  her  face  in  confusion.  "Oh,  but 
it  is  terr-i-bul,  terr-i-bul!  It  is  almost  so  worse  as 
to  call  no  one  a — how  you  say  zat  word  in  Eenglish  ? 
— a  cow,  n'est  ce  pas? — une  vache — ^and  zat  is  the 
most  bad  name  what  you  can  call  no  one." 

Looking  across  the  room  Gorry  was  struck  with  an 
idea.  "Well,  there's  a — ^what  d'ye  call  it — a  vashe — '- 
over  there.  See  that  guy  with  the  girl  with  the  cream- 
colored  hair — fella  with  a  big  black  mustache,  like  a 
brigand  in  a  play?  There's  a  vashe  all-righty ;  and  yet 
I've  got  to  keep  in  with  him." 

As  he  explained  his  reasons  for  keeping  in  with  the 
"vashe"  in  question  mademoiselle  contented  herself 
with  shedding  radiance  and  paying  no  attention. 
Neither  did  she  pay  attention  when  he  went  on  to  tell 
of  the  girl  who  had  disappeared,  and  of  her  step- 
father's reasons  for  finding  her.  She  woke  to  cogni- 
zance of  the  subject  only  when  Gorry  repeated  the 
exact  words  of  Miss  Tina  Vanzetti  that  morning: 
"Name  of  Letty  Gravely." 

It  was  mademoiselle's  turn  for  repetition,  "But  me, 
I  know  dat  name.  I  'ear  it  not  so  long  ago.  Name 
of  Let-ty  Grav-el-ly!  I  sure  'ear  zat  name  all  re- 
cently." She  reflected,  tapping  her  forehead  with 
vivacity.  "Mais  quand?  Mais  oui?  C'etait — ^Aht" 
The  exclamation  was  the  sharp  cry  of  discovery. 
"Tina  Vanzetti — ^my  f rien' !     She  tell  me  zis  mom- 

215 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

ing.  Zat  girl — ^Let-ty  Grav-el-ly — she  come  chez 
Margot  with  ole  man — what  he  keep  ze  white  slave 
— and  he  command  her  grand  beautiful  trousseau — 
Tina  Vanzetti  she  will  give  me  ze  address — and  I  will 
tell  you — and  you  will  tell  him — and  he  will  put  you 

on  to  riche  affairs '* 

"It'll  be  dollars  and  cents  in  the  box  office  for  me," 
Gorry  interpreted,  forcibly,  while  the  band  belched 
forth  a  chord  like  the  groan  of  a  dying  monster,  call- 
ing them  again  to  their  feet. 

"  'Remember,'  said  the  witch,"  Allerton  continued 
to  read,  "  'when  you  have  once  assumed  a  human  form 
you  can  never  again  be  a  mermaid — never  return  to 
your  home  or  to  your  sisters  more.  Should  you  fail 
to  win  the  prince's  love,  so  that  he  leaves  father  and 
mother  for  your  sake,  and  lays  his  hand  in  yours 
before  the  priest,  an  immortal  soul  will  never  be 
granted  you.  On  the  same  day  that  he  marries  an- 
other your  heart  will  break,  and  you  will  drift  as  sea- 
foam  on  the  water.*  'So  let  it  be,'  said  the  little  mer- 
maid, turning  pale  as  death.' " 

Allerton  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  book.  "Does  it 
bore  you?" 

Therewasnomistakingher sincerity.  ''No!  lloveit.'* 

"Then  perhaps  we'll  read  a  lot  of  things.  After 
this  we'll  find  a  good  novel,  and  then  possibly  some- 
body's life.    You'd  like  that,  wouldn't  you?" 

Her  joy  was  such  that  he  could  hardly  hear  the 
"Yes,"  for  which  he  was  listening.  He  listened  be- 
cause he  was  so  accustomed  to  boring  people  that  to 
know  he  was  not  boring  them  was  a  consolation. 

216 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Is  there  anybody's  life — ^his  biography — ^that  you'd 
be  specially  interested  in  ?" 

She  answered  timidly  and  yet  daringly.  "Could 
we — could  we  read  the  life  of  the  late  Queen  Victoria 
— when  she  was  a  girl?" 

"Oh,  easily !  I'll  hunt  round  for  one  to-day.  Now 
let  me  tell  you  about  Hans  Andersen.  He  was  born 
in  Denmark,  so  that  he  was  a  Dane.  You  know 
where  Denmark  is  on  the  map,  don't  you?" 

"I  think  I  do.    It's  there  by  Germany  isn't  it?" 

"Quite  right.  But  let  me  get  the  atlas,  and  we'll 
look  it  up." 

He  was  on  his  feet  when  she  summoned  her  forces 
for  a  question.  "Do  you  read  like  this  to — ^to  the  girl 
you're  engaged  to?" 

"No,"  he  said,  reddening.  "She — she  doesn't  like 
it.  She  won't  let  me.  But  wait  a  minute.  I'll  go 
and  get  the  atlas." 

"  *On  the  same  day  that  he  marries  another,'  Letty 
repeated  to  herself,  as  she  sat  alone,  'your  heart  will 
break,  and  you  will  drift  as  sea-foam  on  the  water.* 
'So  let  it  be,'  said  the  little  mermaid." 


Chapter  XVIII 

ON  the  next  afternoon  Allerton  reported  to  Miss 
Walbrook  the  success  of  his  first  educational 
evening. 

"She's  very  intelligent,  very.  You'd  really  be 
pleased  with  her,  Barbe.  Her  mind  is  so  starved  that 
it  absorbs  everything  you  say  to  her,  as  a  dry  soil 
will  drink  up  rain." 

Regarding  him  with  the  mysterious  Egyptian  ex- 
pression which  had  at  times  suggested  the  reincar- 
nation of  some  ancient  spirit  Barbara  maintained  the 
stillness  which  had  come  upon  her  on  the  previous 
day.    "That  must  be  very  satisfactory  to  you,  Rash." 

He  agreed  the  more  enthusiastically  because  of  be- 
lieving her  at  one  with  him  in  this  endeavor.  **You 
bet !  The  whole  thing  is  going  to  work  out.  She'll 
pick  up  our  point  of  view  as  if  she  was  born  to  it." 

"And  you're  not  afraid  of  her  picking  up  anything 
else?" 

"Anything  else  of  what  kind  ?" 

"She  might  fall  in  love  with  you,  mightn't  she  ?" 

**With  me  ?  Nonsense !  No  one  would  fall  in  love 
with  me  who " 

Her  mysterious  Egyptian  smile  came  and  went. 
"You  can  stop  there,  Rash.  It's  no  use  being  more 
uncomplimentary  than  you  need  to  be.  And  then, 
too,  you  might  fall  in  love  with  her." 

"Barbe  !'*    He  cried  out,  as  if  wounded.    "You're 

2X8 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

really  too  absurd.    She's  a  good  little  thing,  and  she's 
had  the  devil's  own  luck " 

"They  always  do  have.  That  was  one  thing  I  learnt 
in  Bleary  Street.  It  was  never  a  girl's  own  fault. 
It  was  always  the  devil's  own  luck." 

"Well,  isn't  it,  now,  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it  ?  You  can't  take  everything  away  from  people,  and 
expect  them  to  have  the  same  standards  as  you  and 
me.  Think  of  the  mess  that  people  of  our  sort  make 
of  things,  even  with  every  advantage." 

"We've  our  own  temptations,  of  course." 

"And  they've  got  theirs — without  our  pull  in  the 
way  of  carrying  them  off.  You  should  hear  Step- 
toe " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  Steptoc.  I've  heard  him  too 
much  already." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"What  can  I  mean  by  it  but  just  what  I  say?  I 
should  think  you'd  get  rid  of  him." 

Having  first  looked  puzzled,  with  a  suggestion  of 
pain,  he  ended  with  a  laugh.  "You  might  as  well 
expect  me  to  get  rid  of  an  old  grandfather.  Steptoe 
wouldn't  let  me,  if  I  wanted  to." 

"He  doesn't  like  me." 

"Oh,  that's  just  your  imagination,  Barbe.  I'll  an- 
swer for  him  when  it  comes  to " 

"You  needn't  take  the  trouble  to  do  that,  because 
I  don't  like  him." 

"Oh,  butyou  will  when  jrou  come  to  understand  him,'* 

"Possibly;  but  I  don't  mean  to  come  to  understand 
him.      Old    servants    can    be    an    awful    nuisance, 

Rash " 

IS  219 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"But  Steptoe  isn't  exactly  an  old  servant.  He's 
more  like " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  he's  like.  He's  a  habit;  and 
habits  are  always  dangerous,  even  when  they're  good. 
But  we're  not  going  to  quarrel  about  Steptoe  yet.  I 
just  thought  I'd  put  you  on  your  guard " 

"Against  him  ?" 

"He's  a  horrid  old  schemer,  if  that's  what  you  want 
me  to  say ;  but  then  it  may  be  what  you  like." 

"Well,  I  do,"  he  laughed,  "when  it  comes  to  him. 
He's  been  a  horrid  old  schemer  as  long  as  I  remember 
him,  but  always  for  my  good." 

"For  your  good  as  he  sees  it." 

"For  my  good  as  a  kind  old  nurse  might  see  it.  He's 
limited,  of  course ;  but  then  kind  old  nurses  generally 
are. 

To  be  true  to  her  vow  of  keeping  the  peace  she 
forced  back  her  irritations,  and  smiled.  "You're  an 
awful  goose.  Rash;  but  then  you're  a  lovable  goose, 
aren't  you?"  She  beckoned,  imperiously.  "Come 
here." 

When  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  her  chair  she 
pressed  back  his  face  framed  by  her  two  hands.  "Now 
tell  me.    Which  do  you  love  most — Steptoe  or  me?" 

He  cast  about  him  for  two  of  her  special  prefer- 
ences. "And  you  tell  me ;  which  do  you  love  most,  a 
saddle-horse  or  an  opera?" 

"H  I  told  you,  which  should  I  be? — the  opera  or 
the  saddle-horse?" 

"If  I  told  you,  which  would  you  give  up?" 

So  they  talked  foolishly,  as  lovers  do  in  the  chaffing 
stage,  she  trying  to  charm  him  into  promising  to  get 

220 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

rid  of  Steptoe,  he  charmed  by  her  willingness  to 
charm  him.  Neither  remembered  that  technically  he 
was  a  married  man ;  but  then  neither  had  ever  taken 
his  marriage  to  Letty  as  a  serious  breach  in  their 
relations. 

While  he  was  thus  on  his  knees  the  kindly  old  nurse 
was  giving  to  Letty  a  kindly  old  nurse's  advice. 

"If  madam  'ud  go  out  and  tyke  a  walk  I  think  it'd 
do  madam  good." 

To  madam  the  suggestion  had  elements  of  mingled 
terror  and  attraction.  "But,  Steptoe,  I  couldn't  go 
out  and  take  a  walk  unless  I  dressed  up  in  the  new  out- 
door suit." 

"And  what  did  madam  buy  it  for? — ^with  the  'at 
and  the  vyle,  and  ever)i;hink,  just  like  the  lyte  Mrs. 
Allerton." 

It  was  the  argument  she  was  hoping  for.  In  the 
first  place  she  was  used  to  the  freedom  of  the  streets ; 
and  in  the  second  the  outdoor  suit  was  calling  her. 
Letty's  love  of  dress  was  more  than  a  love  of  appear- 
ing at  her  best,  though  that  love  was  part  of  it;  it 
was  a  love  of  the  clothes  themselves,  of  fabrics, 
colors,  and  fashions.  When  her  dreams  were  not  of 
wandering  knights  who  loved  her  at  a  glance — 
bankers,  millionaires,  casting  directors  in  motion-pic- 
ture studios,  or,  in  high  flights  of  imagination,  incog- 
nito English  lords — they  dealt  in  costumes  of  magic 
tissue,  of  hues  suited  to  her  hair  and  eyes,  in  which 
the  world  saw  and  greeted  her,  not  as  the  poor  little 
waif  whom  Judson  Flack  had  put  out  of  doors,  but 
the  true  Letty  Gravely  of  romance.    The  Letty  Gravely 

221 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

of  romance  was  the  real  Letty  Gravely,  a  being  set 
free  from  the  cruel,  the  ugly,  the  carking,  the  sordid, 
to  flourish  in  a  sunlight  she  knew  to  be  shining 
somewhere. 

Oddly  enough  her  vision  had  come  partly  true ;  and 
yet  so  out  of  focus  that  she  couldn't  see  its  truth. 
It  was  like  the  sunlight  which  she  knew  to  be  shining 
somewhere,  with  a  wrong  refraction  in  its  rays.  The 
world  into  which  she  had  been  carried  was  like  that 
in  a  cubist  picture  which  someone  had  shown  her  at 
the  studio.  It  bore  a  relation  to  the  world  she  knew, 
but  a  relation  in  which  whatever  she  had  supposed 
to  be  perpendicular  was  oblique,  and  whatever  she  had 
supposed  to  be  obhque  was  horizontal,  and  nothing 
as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  find  it.  It  made  her 
head  swim.  It  was  literally  true  that  she  was  afraid 
to  move  lest  she  should  make  a  misstep  through  an 
error  in  her  sense  of  planes. 

But  clothes  she  understood.  In  the  swirling  of  her 
universe  they  formed  a  rock  to  which  her  intelligence 
could  cling.  They  kept  her  sane.  In  a  sense  they  kept 
her  happy.  When  all  outside  was  confusion  and  top- 
sy-turv)mess  she  could  retire  among  Margot's  cartons, 
and  find  herself  on  solid  ground.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  record  the  hours  she  spent  before  the  long  mirror 
in  the  little  back  spare  room.  Here  her  imagination 
could  give  itself  free  range.  She  was  Luciline  Lynch, 
and  Mercola  Merch,  and  Lisabel  Anstey,  and  any 
other  star  of  whom  she  admired  the  attainments ;  she 
could  play  a  whole  series  of  parts  from  which  her 
lade  of  a  wardrobe  had  hitherto  excluded  her.  From 
time  to  time  she  ventured,  like  Steptoe,  to  be  Barbara 

222 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Walbrook  herself,  though  assuming  the  role  with  kss 
intrepidity  than  he. 

It  was  easier,  she  found,  to  be  any  of  the  stars 
than  Barbara  Walbrook,  for  the  reason  that  the  latter 
was  "the  real  thing."  She  was  living  her  part,  not 
playing  it.  She  was  "letter  perfect,"  in  Steptoe's 
sense,  not  because  a  director  moved  her  person  this 
way,  or  turned  her  head  that  way,  but  because  life  had 
so  infused  her  that  she  did  what  was  right  uncon- 
sciously. Letty,  by  pretending  to  enter  at  the  door  and 
come  forward  to  the  mirror  as  to  a  living  presence, 
studied  what  was  right  by  imitation.  Miss  Walbrook 
walked  with  a  swift,  easy  gait  which  suggested  the 
precision  of  certain  strong  birds  when  swooping  on 
their  prey.  Between  the  door  and  the  mirror  Letty 
aimed  at  the  same  effect  till  she  made  a  discovery. 

"I  can't  do  it  her  way;  I  can  only  do  it  my  way." 

The  ways  were  different;  yet  each  could  be  effec- 
tive. That  too  was  a  discovery.  Nature  had  no  rule 
to  which  every  individual  was  obliged  to  conform. 
The  individual  was,  in  a  measure,  his  own  rule,  and 
got  his  attractiveness  from  being  so.  The  minute 
you  abandoned  your  own  gifts  to  cultivate  those  with 
which  Nature  had  blessed  someone  else  you  lost  not 
only  your  identity  but  your  charm. 

Letty  worked  this  out  as  something  like  a  prin- 
ciple. However  many  the  hints  she  took  it  would  be 
folly  to  try  to  be  anything  but  herself.  After  all,  it 
was  what  gave  her  value  to  a  star,  her  personality.  If 
Luciline  Lynch  whom  Nature  had  endowed  with  the 
grand  manner  had  tried  to  be  Mercola  Merch  who  was 
all  vivacious  wickedness — ^well,  anyone  could  see !    So, 

223 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

if  Barbara  Walbrook  suggested  an  eagle  on  the  wing 
and  she,  Letty  Gravely,  was  only  a  sparrow  in  the 
street,  the  sparrow  would  be  more  successful  as  a 
sparrow  than  in  trying  to  emulate  the  eagle. 

And  yet  there  was  a  value  to  good  models  which  at 
first  she  found  difficult  to  reconcile  with  this  truth 
of  personal  independence.  This  too  she  thought  out. 
"It's  like  a  way  to  do  your  hair,"  was  her  method  of 
expressing  it.  "You  do  what's  in  fashion,  but  you 
twist  it  so  that  it  suits  your  own  style.  It  isn't  the 
fashion  that  makes  you  look  right ;  it's  in  being  true 
to  what  suits  you." 

There  was,  however,  in  Barbara  Walbrook  a  some- 
thing deeper  than  this  which  at  first  eluded  her.  It  was 
in  Rashleigh  Allerton  too.  It  was  in  Lisabel  Anstey, 
and  in  a  few  other  stars,  but  not  in  Mercola  Merch, 
nor  in  Luciline  Lynch.  "It's  the  whole  business," 
Letty  summed  up  to  herself,  "and  yet  I  don't  know 
what  it  is.    Unless  I  can  put  my  finger  on  it  .  .  ." 

She  was  just  at  this  point  when  Steptoe  addressed 
her  on  the  subject  of  going  out.  That  she  do  so  was 
part  of  his  programme.  Madam  would  not  be  madam 
till  she  felt  herself  free  to  come  and  go;  and  till 
madam  was  madam  Mr.  Rash  would  not  understand 
who  it  was  they  had  in  the  'ouse.  That  he  didn't 
understand  it  yet  was  partly  due  to  madam  'erself 
who  didn't  understand  it  on  'er  side.  To  cultivate  this 
understanding  in  madam  was  Steptoe's  immediate  aim, 
in  which  Beppo,  the  little  cocker  spaniel,  unexpectedly 
came  to  his  assistance. 

As  the  two  stood  conversing  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  Beppo  lilted  down,  with  that  air  of  having  no 

224 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

one  to  love  which  he  had  worn  during  all  the  eighteen 
months  since  his  mistress  had  died.  The  cocker 
spaniel's  heart,  as  everyone  knows,  is  imbued  with  the 
principle  of  one  life,  one  love.  It  has  no  room  for 
two  loves ;  it  has  still  less  room  for  that  general  ami- 
ability to  which  most  dogs  are  born.  Among  the 
human  race  it  singles  out  one;  and  to  that  one  it  is 
faithful.  In  separation  it  seeks  no  substitute;  in 
bereavement  it  rarely  forms  a  second  tie.  To  every- 
one but  Beppo  the  removal  of  Mrs.  AUerton  had  made 
the  world  brighter.  He  alone  had  mourned  that  pres- 
ence with  a  grief  which  sought  neither  comfort  nor 
mitigation.  He  had  followed  his  routine;  he  had 
eaten  and  slept ;  he  had  gone  out  when  he  was  taken 
out  and  come  in  when  he  was  brought  in ;  but  he  had 
lived  shut  up  within  himself,  aloof  in  his  sorrow.  For 
the  first  time  in  all  those  eighteen  months  he  had  come 
out  of  this  proud  gloom  when  Rashleigh's  key  had 
turned  in  the  door  that  night,  and  Letty  had  entered 
the  house. 

The  secret  call  which  Beppo  had  heard  can  never 
be  understood  by  men  till  men  have  developed  more 
of  their  latent  faculties.  As  he  lay  in  his  basket  some- 
thing reached  him  which  he  recognized  as  a  summons 
to  a  new  phase  of  usefulness.  Out  of  the  lethargy  of 
mourning  he  had  jumped  with  an  obedient  leap  that 
took  him  through  the  obscurity  of  the  house  to  where 
a  frightened  girl  had  need  of  a  little  dog's  sympathy. 
Of  that  sympathy  he  had  been  lavish;  and  now  that 
there  was  new  discussion  in  the  air  he  came  with  his 
contribution. 

In  words  Steptoe  had  to  be  his  interpreter,  "That 
225 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

poor  little  dog  as  'as  growed  so  fond  of  madam  don't 
get  'alf  the  exercise  he  ought  to  be  give.  If  madam 
was  to  tyke  'im  out  like  for  a  little  stroll  up  the 
Havenue.  .  .  ." 

Thus  it  happened  that  in  less  than  half  an  hour 
Letty  found  herself  out  in  the  October  sunlight, 
dressed  in  her  blue-green  costume,  with  all  the  details 
to  "correspond,"  and  leading  Beppo  on  the  leash.  To 
lead  Beppo  on  the  leash,  as  Steptoe  had  perceived,  gave 
a  reason  for  an  excursion  which  would  otherwise  have 
seemed  motiveless.  But  she  was  out.  She  was  out 
in  conditions  in  which  even  Judson  Flack,  had  he  met 
her,  could  hardly  have  detected  her.  Gorgeously 
arrayed  as  she  seemed  to  herself  she  was  dressed  with 
the  simplicity  which  stamps  the  French  taste.  There 
was  nothing  to  make  her  remarked,  especially  in  a 
double  procession  of  women  so  many  of  whom  were 
remarkable.  Had  you  looked  at  her  twice  you  would 
have  noted  that  while  skill  counted  for  much  in  her 
gentle,  well-bred  appearance,  a  subtle,  unobtrusive, 
native  distinction  counted  for  most;  but  you  would 
have  been  obliged  to  look  at  her  twice  before  noting 
an)rthing  about  her.  She  was  a  neatly  dressed  girl, 
with  an  air;  but  on  that  bright  afternoon  in  Fifth 
Avenue  neatly  dressed  girls  with  an  air  were  as  butter- 
cups in  June. 

Seizing  this  fact  Letty  felt  more  at  her  ease.  No 
one  was  thinking  her  conspicuous.  She  was  passing 
in  the  crowd.  She  was  not  being  "spotted"  as  the 
girl  who  a  short  time  before  had  had  nothing  but  the 
old  gray  rag  to  appear  in.  She  could  enjoy  the  walk — 
and  forget  herself. 

226 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Then  it  came  to  her  suddenly  that  this  was  the 
secret  of  which  she  was  in  search,  the  power  to  forget 
herself.  She  must  learn  to  do  things  so  easily  that 
she  would  have  no  self-consciousness  in  doing  them. 
In  big  things  Barbara  Walbrook  might  think  of  her- 
self ;  but  in  all  little  things,  in  the  way  she  spoke  and 
walked  and  bore  herself  toward  others,  she  acted  as 
she  breathed.  It  seemed  wonderful  to  Letty,  this 
assurance  that  you  were  right  in  all  the  fundamentals. 
It  was  precisely  in  the  fundamentals  that  she  was  so 
likely  to  be  wrong.  It  was  where  girls  of  her  sort 
suffered  most;  in  the  lack  of  the  elementary.  One 
could  bluff  the  advanced,  or  make  a  shot  at  it ;  but  the 
elementary  couldn't  be  bluffed,  and  no  shot  at  it 
would  tell.  It  betrayed  you  at  once.  You  must  have 
it.  You  must  have  it  as  you  had  the  circulation  of 
your  blood,  as  something  so  basic  that  you  didn't  need 
to  consider  it.  That  was  her  next  discovery,  as  with 
Beppo  tugging  at  the  end  of  his  tether  she  walked 
onward. 

She  was  used  to  walking ;  she  walked  strongly,  and 
with  a  trudging  sturdiness,  not  without  its  grace.  She 
came  to  the  part  of  Fifth  Avenue  where  the  great 
houses  begin  to  thin  out,  and  vacant  lots,  as  if  ashamed 
of  their  vacancy,  shrink  behind  boardings  vivid  with 
the  news  of  picture-plays.  It  was  the  year  when  they 
were  advertising  the  screen-masterpiece,  Passion 
Aflame;  and  here  was  depicted  Luciline  Lynch,  a  torch 
in  her  hand,  her  hair  in  maenadic  dishevelment,  lead- 
ing on  a  mob  to  set  fire  to  a  town.  Letty  herself 
having  been  in  that  mob  paused  in  search  of  her  face 
nmong  the  horde  of  the  great  star's  followers.     It 

227 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

was  a  blob  of  scarlet  and  green  from  which  she 
dropped  her  eyes,  only  to  have  them  encounter  a 
friend  of  long  standing. 

At  the  foot  of  the  boarding,  and  all  in  a  row,  was 
a  straggling  band  of  dust-flowers.  It  was  late  in  the 
season,  yet  not  too  late  for  their  bit  of  blue  heaven  to 
press  in  among  the  ways  of  men.  She  was  not  surprised 
to  find  them  there.  Ever  since  the  crazy  woman  had 
pointed  out  the  mission  of  this  humble  little  helper 
of  the  human  race  she  had  noted  its  persistency  in 
haunting  the  spots  which  beauty  had  deserted.  You 
found  it  in  the  fields,  it  was  true;  but  you  found  it 
rarely,  sparsely,  raggedly,  blooming,  you  might  say, 
with  but  little  heart  for  its  bloom.  Where  other 
flowers  had  been  frightened  away;  where  the  poor 
crowded;  where  factories  flared;  where  junk-heaps 
rusted ;  where  backyards  baked ;  where  smoke  defiled ; 
where  wretchedness  stalked;  where  crime  brooded; 
where  the  land  was  unkempt ;  where  the  human  spirit 
was  sodden — ^there  the  celestial  thing  multiplied  its 
celestial  growths,  blessing  the  eyes  and  making  the 
heart  leap.  It  mattered  little  that  so  few  gave  it  a 
thought  or  regarded  it  as  other  than  a  weed;  there 
were  always  those  few,  who  knew  that  it  spelled  beauty, 
who  knew  that  it  spelled  something  more. 

Letty  was  of  those  few.  She  was  of  those  few  for 
old  sake's  sake,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  a  new  yearn- 
ing. Slipping  off  a  glove  she  picked  a  few  of  the 
dusty  stalks,  even  though  she  knew  that  once  taken 
from  their  task  of  glorifying  the  dishonored  the  blue 
stars  would  shut  almost  instantly.  "They'll  wither  in 
a  few  days  now,"  she  said,  in  self-excuse ;  "and  any- 

228 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

how  I'll  leave  most  of  them."  Having  shaken  off 
the  dust  she  fastened  them  in  her  corsage,  blue  against 
her  blue-green. 

They  were  her  symbol  for  happiness  springing  up 
in  the  face  of  despair,  and  from  a  soil  where  you  would 
expect  it  to  be  choked.  She  herself  was  happy  to-day 
as  she  could  not  remember  ever  to  have  been  happy 
in  her  life.  For  the  first  time  she  was  passing  among 
decent  people  decently;  and  then — it  was  the  great 
hope  beyond  which  she  didn't  look — the  prince  might 
read  with  her  again  that  evening. 

But  as  she  turned  from  Fifth  Avenue  into  East 
Sixty-seventh  Street  the  prince  was  approaching  his 
door  from  the  other  direction.  Even  she  was  aware 
that  it  was  contrary  to  his  habits  to  appear  at  home  by 
five  in  the  afternoon.  She  didn't  know,  of  course, 
that  Barbara  had  so  stimulated  his  enthusiasm  for  the 
educational  course  that  he  had  come  on  the  chance  of 
taking  it  up  at  the  tea  hour.  He  could  not  remember 
that  Barbara  had  ever  before  been  so  sympathetic  to 
one  of  his  ideas.  The  fact  encouraged  his  feeble 
belief  in  himself,  and  made  him  love  her  with  richer 
tenderness. 

In  the  gentle  girl  of  quietly  distinguished  mien  he 
saw  nothing  but  a  stranger  till  Beppo  strained  at  his 
leash  and  barked.  Even  then  it  took  him  half  a 
minute  to  get  his  powers  of  recognition  into  play.  He 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  his  steps,  watching  her  approach. 

By  doing  so  he  made  the  approach  more  difficult 
for  her.  The  heart  seemed  to  stop  in  her  body.  She 
could  scarcely  breathe.  Each  step  was  like  walking  on 
blades,  yet  like  walking  on  blades  with  a  kind  of 

229 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

ecstasy.  Luckily  Beppo  pranced  and  pulled  in  such  a 
way  that  she  was  forced  to  give  him  some  attention. 

The  prince's  first  words  were  also  a  distraction 
from  terrors  and  enchantments  which  made  her  feel 
faint. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  poor  man's  coffee  ?" 

The  question  by  puzzling  her  gave  her  some  relief. 
Pointing  at  the  sprays  in  her  corsage  he  went  on : 

"That's  what  the  country  people  often  call  the 
chicory  weed  in  France." 

She  was  able  to  gasp  feebly:  "Oh,  does  it  grow 
tJiere?" 

"I  think  it  grows  pretty  nearly  everywhere.  It's 
one  of  the  most  classic  wild  flowers  we  know  anything 
about.  The  ancient  Egyptians  dried  its  leaves  to  give 
flavor  to  their  salad,  and  I  remember  being  told  at 
Luxor  that  the  modern  Copts  and  Arabs  do  the  same. 
You  see  it's  quite  a  friendly  little  beast  to  man." 

It  eased  her  other  feelings  to  tell  him  about  the 
crazy  woman  in  Canada,  and  her  reading  of  the  dust- 
flower's  significance. 

"That's  a  good  idea  too,"  Allerton  agreed,  smiling 
down  into  her  eyes.  "There  are  people  like  that — little 
dust-flowers  cheering  up  the  wayside  for  the  rest  of 
lis  poor  brutes." 

She  said,  wistfully :  "I  suppose  you've  known  a  lot 
of  them." 

As  he  laughed  his  eyes  rested  on  a  man  sauntering 
toward  them  from  the  direction  of  Fifth  Avenue. 
"I've  known  about  two—"  his  eyes  came  back  to 
smile  again  down  into  hers — "or  one."  He  started 
as  a  man  starts  who  receives  a  new  suggestion.    "I 

230 


THE    PRINCE  S    FIRST    WORDS    WERE   ALSO   A    DISTRACTION    FROM    TERRORS 
AND  ENCHANTMENTS   WHICH    MADE   HER  FEEL  FAINT 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

say!  Let's  go  in  and  look  up  chicory  and  succory  in 
the  encyclopedia.  Then  we'll  know  all  about  it.  It 
seems  to  me,  too,"  he  went  on,  rerainiscently,  "that 
I  read  a  little  poem  about  this  very  blue  flower — by 
Margaret  Deland,  I  think  it  was— only  a  few  weeks 
ago.  I  believe  I  could  put  my  hand  on  it.  Come 
along." 

As  he  sprang  up  the  steps  the  pearly  gates  were 
opening  again  before  Letty  when  the  man  whom 
Allerton  had  seen  sauntering  toward  them  actually 
passed  by.  Passing  he  lifted  his  hat  politely,  smiled, 
and  said,  "Good  afternoon,  Miss  Gravely,"  like  any 
other  gentleman.  He  was  a  good-looking  slippery 
young  man,  with  a  cast  in  his  left  eye. 

Because  she  was  a  woman  before  she  was  a  lady, 
as  she  understood  the  word  lady,  Letty  responded 
with,  "Good  afternoon,"  and  a  little  inclination  of  the 
head.  He  was  several  doors  off  before  she  bethought 
herself  sufficiently  to  take  alarm. 

"Who's  that?"  Allerton  demanded,  looking  down 
from  the  third  or  fourth  step. 

"I'm  sure  I  haven't  an  idea.  I  think  he  must  be 
some  camera-man  who's  seen  me  when  they've  been 
shooting  the  pitch — "  she  made  the  correction  almost 
in  time — "who's  seen  me  when  they've  been  shooting 
the  pick-tures.     I  can't  think  of  anything  else." 

They  watched  the  retreating  form  till,  without  a 
backward  glance,  it  turned  into  Madison  Avenue. 

"GDme  along  in,"  Allerton  called  then,  in  a  tone 
intended  to  disperse  misgiving,  "and  let's  begin." 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  reading  in  the  library, 
from  a  big  volume  open  on  his  knees,  how  for  over  a 

231 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

century  the  chicory  root  had  been  dried  and  ground  in 
France,  and  used  to  strengthen  the  cheaper  grades  of 
coffee,  when  Letty  broke  in,  as  if  she  had  not  been 
following  him : 

"I  don't  think  that  fella  could  have  been  a  camera- 
man after  all.  No  camera-man  would  ha'  noticed  me 
in  the  great  big  bunch  I  was  always  in." 

"Oh,  well,  he  can't  do  you  any  harm  anyhow," 
Allerton  assured  her.  "I'll  just  finish  this,  and  then 
I'll  look  for  the  poem  by  Mrs.  Deland." 

With  her  veil  and  gloves  in  her  lap  Letty  sat 
thoughtful  while  he  passed  from  shelf  to  shelf  in 
search  of  the  smaller  volume.  Of  her  real  suspicion, 
that  the  man  was  a  friend  of  Judson  Flack's,  she 
decided  not  to  speak. 

Seated  once  more  in  front  of  her,  and  bending 
slightly  toward  her,  Allerton  read : 

"Oh,  not  in  ladies'  gardens, 
My  peasant  posy ! 
Smile  thy  dear  blue  eyes, 
Nor  only — nearer  to  the  skies — 
In  upland  pastures,  dim  and  sweet — 
But  by  the  dusty  road 
Where  tired  feet 
Toil  to  and  fro ; 
Where  flaunting  Sin 
May  see  thy  heavenly  hue, 
Or  weary  Sorrow  look  from  thee 
Toward  a  more  tender  blue." 

Allerton  glanced  up  from  the  book.  "Pretty,  isn't 
it?" 

232 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

She  admitted  that  it  was,  and  then  added:  "And 
yet  there  was  the  times  when  the  castin'  director  put 
me  right  in  the  front,  to  register  what  the  crowd 
behind  me  was  thinkin'  about.  He  might  ha'  noticed 
me  then." 

"Yes,  of  course;  that  must  have  been  it.  Now 
wouldn't  you  like  me  to  read  that  again?  You  must 
always  read  a  poem  a  second  or  third  time  to  really 
know  what  it's  about." 

Meanwhile  a  poem  of  another  sort  was  being  read 
to  Miss  Barbara  Walbrook  by  her  aunt,  who  had 
entered  the  drawing-room  within  five  minutes  after 
Allerton  had  left  it.  During  those  five  minutes 
Barbara  had  remained  seated,  plunged  into  reverie. 
The  problem  with  which  she  had  to  deal  was  the 
degree  to  which  she  was  right  or  wrong  in  permitting 
Rashleigh  to  go  on  in  his  crazy  course.  That  this 
outcast  girl  was  twining  herself  round  his  heart  was 
a  fact  growing  too  obtrusive  to  be  ignored.  Had 
Rashleigh  been  as  other  men  decisive  action  would 
have  been  imperative.  But  he  was  not  as  other  men, 
and  there  lay  the  possibilities  she  found  difficult. 

H  the  aunt  couldn't  help  the  niece  to  solve  the 
difficult  question  she  at  least  could  compel  her  to  take 
a  stand. 

As  she  entered  the  drawing-room  she  came  from 
out  of  doors,  a  slender,  unfleshly  figure,  all  intellect 
and  idea.  Her  vices  being  wholly  of  the  spirit  were 
not  recognized  as  vices,  so  that  she  passed  as  the 
highest  type  of  the  good  woman  which  the  continent 
of  America  knows  anything  about.    Being  the  high- 

233 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

est  tyipe  of  the  good  woman  she  had,  moreover, 
the  privilege  which  American  usage  accords  to  all 
good  women  of  being  good  aggressively.  No  other 
good  woman  in  the  world  enjoys  this  right  to  the 
same  degree,  a  fact  to  which  we  can  point  with  pride. 
The  good  English  woman,  the  good  French  woman, 
the  good  Italian  woman,  are  obliged  by  the  customs 
of  their  countries  to  direct  their  goodness  into 
channels  in  which  it  is  relatively  curbed.  The  good 
American  woman,  on  the  other  hand,  is  never  so 
much  at  home  as  when  she  is  on  the  warpath.  Her 
goodness  being  the  only  standard  of  goodness  which 
the  country  accepts  she  has  the  right  to  impose  it  by 
any  means  she  can  harness  to  her  purposes.  She  is 
the  inspiration  of  our  churches,  and  the  terror  of  our 
constituencies.  She  is  behind  state  legislatures  and 
federal  congresses  and  presidential  cabinets.  They 
may  elude  her  lofty  purposes,  falsify  her  trust,  and 
for  a  time  hoodwink  her  with  male  chicaneries;  but 
they  are  always  afraid  of  her,  and  in  the  end  they 
do  as  she  commands.  Among  the  coarsely,  stupidly, 
viciously  masculine  countries  of  the  world  the  Ameri- 
can Republic  is  the  single  and  conspicuous  matriar- 
chate,  ruled  by  its  good  women.  Of  these  rulers  Miss 
Marion  Walbrook  was  as  representative  a  type  as 
could  be  found,  high,  pure,  zealous,  intolerant  of 
men's  weaknesses,  and  with  only  spiritual  immoralities 
of  her  own. 

Seated  in  one  of  her  slender  upright  armchairs  she 
had  the  impressiveness  of  goodness  fully  conscious  of 
itself.  A  document  she  held  in  her  hand  gave  her  the 
judicial  air  of  one  entitled  to  pass  sentence. 

234 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"I'm  sorry,  Barbara;  but  I've  some  disagreeable 
news  for  you." 

Barbara  woke.    "Indeed?" 

"I've  just  come  from  Augusta  Chancellor's.  She 
talked  about — that  man." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  said  two  or  three  things.  One  was  that  she'd 
met  him  one  day  in  the  Park  when  he  decidedly  wasn't 
himself." 

"Oh,  it's  hard  to  say  when  he's  himself  and 
when  he  isn't.  He's  what  the  French  would  call  un 
original." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that.  The  originality  of 
men  is  commonplace  as  it's  most  novel.  This  man  is 
on  a  par  with  the  rest,  if  you  call  it  original  for  him 
to  have  a  woman  in  the  house." 

Barbara  feigned  languidness.  "Well,  it  is — the  way 
he  has  her  there." 

"The  way  he  has  her  there?  What  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  There's  no  one  else  in  the 
world  who  would  take  a  girl  under  his  roof  in  the 
way  Rash  has  taken  this  girl." 

"How,  may  I  ask,  did  he  take  her?" 

Having  foreseen  that  one  day  she  should  be  in  this 
position  Barbara  had  made  up  her  mind  as  to  how 
much  she  should  say.    "He  found  her." 

"Oh,  they  all  do  that.  They  generally  find  them 
in  the  Park." 

"Exactly;  it's  just  what  he  did." 

"I  guessed — it  was  only  guessing  mind  you — ^that 
he  also  tried  to  find  Augusta  Chancellor." 
16  235 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"Oh,  possibly.  He'd  go  as  far  as  that,  if  he  saw  her 
doing  anything  he  thought  not  respectable." 

"Barbara,  please !  You're  talking  about  a  friend  of 
mine,  one  of  my  colleagues.  Let's  return  to — I  hope 
you  won't  find  the  French  phrase  invidious — ^to  our 
mutton." 

"Oh,  very  well!  Rash  found  the  girl  homeless — 
penniless — with  no  friends.  Her  stepfather  had 
turned  her  out.  Another  man  would  have  left  her 
there,  or  turned  her  over  to  the  police.  Rash  took 
her  to  his  own  house,  and  since  then  we've  both  been 
helping  her  to — to  get  on  her  feet," 

"Helping  her  to  get  on  her  feet  in  a  way  that's 
driven  from  the  house  the  good  old  women  who've 
been  there  for  nearly  thirty  years." 

"Oh,  you  know  that  too,  do  you?" 

"Why,  certainly.  Jane,  that  was  the  parlor  maid, 
is  very  intimate  with  Augusta  Chancellor's  cook ;  and 
she  says — Jane  does — ^that  he's  actually  married  the 
creature." 

Barbara  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  can't  help  what 
the  servants  say.  Aunt  Marion.  I'm  trying  to  be  a 
friend  to  the  girl,  and  help  her  to  pull  herself  together. 
Of  course  I  recognize  the  fact  that  Rash  has  been 
foolish — quixotic — or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it; 
but  he  hasn't  kept  anything  from  me." 

"And  you're  still  engaged  to  him?" 

"Of  course  I'm  still  engaged  to  him."  She  Held  out 
her  left  hand.    "Look  at  his  ring." 

"Then  why  don't  you  get  married?" 

"Are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me?" 

The  question  being  a  pleasantry  Miss  Walbrook 
236 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

took  it  with  a  gentle  smile.  When  she  resumed  it 
was  with  a  slight  flourish  of  the  document  in  her  hand, 
and  another  turn  to  the  conversation. 

"I  went  to  the  bank  this  morning,  I've  brought 
home  my  will.  I'm  thinking  of  making  some  changes 
in  it." 

Barbara  looked  non-committal,  as  if  the  subject 
had  nothing  to  do  with  herself. 

"The  question  I  have  to  decide,"  Miss  Walbrook 
pursued,  "is  whether  to  leave  everything  to  you,  in  the 
hope  that  you'll  carry  on  my  work " 

"I  shouldn't  know  how." 

"Or  whether  to  establish  a  trust " 

"I  should  do  that  decidedly." 

"And  let  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  pack  of  men." 

"It  will  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  pack  of  men,  what- 
ever you  do  with  it." 

"And  yet  if  you  had  it  in  charge " 

"Some  man  would  get  hold  of  it.  Aunt  Marion." 

"Which  is  what  I'm  debating.  I'm  not  so  very 
sure " 

"That  I  shall  marry  in  the  end?" 

"Well,  you're  not  married  yet  .  .  .  and  if  you 
were  to  change  your  mind  .  .  .  the  world  has  such  a 
need  of  consecrated  women  with  men  so  unscrupulous 
and  irresponsible  ...  we  must  break  their  power 
some  day  .  .  .  and  now  that  we've  got  the  oppor- 
tunity ...  all  I  want  you  to  understand  is  that  if 
you  shouldn't  marry  there'd  be  a  great  career  in  store 
for  you.  .  .  ." 


237 


Chapter  XIX 

BY  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours  the  possibility  of 
this  great  career  quickened  Barbara's  zeal  for 
taking  a  hand  in  Letty's  education.  Not  only  did  that 
impulse  of  furious  jealousy,  by  which  she  meant  at 
first  to  leave  it  wholly  to  Rash,  begin  to  seem  danger- 
ous, but  there  was  a  world  to  consider  and  throw  off 
the  scent.  Now  that  Augusta  Chancellor  knew  that 
the  girl  was  beneath  Rash's  roof  all  their  acquaintances 
would  sooner  or  later  be  in  possession  of  the  fact.  It 
was  Barbara's  part,  therefore,  to  play  the  game  in  such 
a  way  that  a  bit  of  quixotism  would  be  the  most  foolish 
thing  of  which  Rash  would  be  suspected. 

That  she  would  be  playing  a  game  she  knew  in 
advance.  She  must  hide  her  suspicions;  she  must 
control  her  sufferings.  She  must  pretend  to  have 
confidence  in  Rash,  when  at  heart  she  cried  against 
him  as  an  infant  and  a  fool.  Never  was  woman  in 
such  a  ridiculous  situation  as  that  into  which  she  had 
been  thrust ;  never  was  heart  so  wild  to  ease  itself  by 
invective  and  denunciation ;  and  never  was  the  padlock 
fixed  so  firmly  on  the  lips.  Hour  by  hour  the  man 
she  loved  was  being  weaned  and  won  away  from  her ; 
and  she  must  stand  by  with  grimacing  smiles,  instead 
of  throwing  up  her  arms  in  dramatic  gestures  and 
calling  on  her  gods  to  smite  and  smash  and  annihilate. 

Since,  however,  she  had  a  game  to  play,  a  game  she 
would  play,  though  she  did  it  quivering  with  protest 
and  repulsion. 

238 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  take  the  car  this  afternoon,  Aunt 
Marion,  since  you're  not  going  to  use  it." 

"Take  it  of  course;  but  where  are  you  going?" 

"I  thought  I  would  ask  that  protegee  of  Rash 
Allerton's,  of  whom  we  were  speaking  yesterday,  to 
come  for  a  drive  with  me.  But  if  you'd  rather  I 
didn't " 

"I've  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It's  entirely  for  you  to 
say.    The  car  is  yours,  of  course." 

The  invitation  being  transmitted  by  telephone  Step- 
toe  urged  Letty  to  accept  it.  "It'll  be  all  in  the  wye 
of  madam's  gettin'  used  to  things — a  bit  at  a  time 
like." 

"But  I  don't  think  she  likes  me." 

"If  madam  won't  stop  to  think  whether  people  likes 
*er  or  not  I  think  madam  'd  get  for'arder.  Besides 
madam'll  pretty  generally  always  find  as  love-call 
wykes  love-echo,  as  the  syin'  goes." 

Which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  what  Letty  did 
find.  She  found  it  from  the  minute  of  entering  the 
car  and  taking  her  seat,  when  Miss  Walbrook  ex- 
claimed heartily:  "What  a  lovely  dress!  And  the 
hat's  too  sweet!  Suits  you  exactly,  doesn't  it?  My 
dear,  I've  the  greatest  bother  ever  to  find  a  hat  that 
doesn't  make  me  look  like  a  scarecrow." 

From  the  naturalness  of  the  tone  there  was  no 
suspecting  the  cost  of  these  words  to  the  speaker,  and 
the  subject  was  one  in  which  Letty  was  at  home.  In 
turn  she  could  compliment  Miss  Walbrook's  appear- 
ance, duly  admiring  the  toque  of  prune-colored  velvet, 
with  a  little  bunch  of  roses  artfully  disposed,  and  the 
coat  of  prune-colored  Harris  tweed.    In  further  dis- 

239 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

cussing  the  length  of  the  new  skirts  and  the  chances 
of  the  tight  corset  coming  back  they  found  topics  of 
common  interest.  The  fact  that  they  were  the  topics 
which  came  readiest  to  the  Hps  of  both  made  it  pos- 
sible to  maintain  the  conversation  at  its  normal  give- 
and-take,  while  each  could  pursue  the  line  of  her  own 
summing  up  of  the  other. 

To  Letty  Miss  Walbrook  seemed  friendlier  than 
she  had  expected,  only  spasmodically  so.  Her  kindly 
moods  came  in  spurts  of  which  the  inspiration  soon 
gave  out.  "I  think  she's  sad,"  was  Letty's  comment 
to  herself.  Sadness,  in  Letty's  use  of  words,  covered 
all  the  emotions  not  distinctly  cheerful  or  hilarious. 

She  knew  nothing  about  Miss  Walbrook,  except 
that  it  appeared  from  this  conversation  that  she  lived 
with  an  aunt,  whose  car  they  were  using.  That  she 
was  a  friend  of  the  prince's  had  been  several  times 
repeated,  but  all  information  ended  there.  To  Letty 
she  seemed  old — between  thirty  and  forty.  Had  she 
known  her  actual  age  she  would  still  have  seemed  old 
from  her  knowledge  of  the  world  and  general  sophis- 
tication. Letty's  own  lack  of  sophistication  kept  her  a 
child  when  she  was  nearly  twenty-three.  That  Miss 
Walbrook  was  the  girl  to  whom  the  prince  was  en- 
gaged had  not  yet  crossed  her  thought. 

At  the  same  time,  since  she  knew  that  girl  she 
brought  her  to  the  forefront  of  Letty's  consciousness. 
She  was  never  far  from  the  forefront  of  her  con- 
sciousness, and  of  late  speculation  concerning  her  had 
become  more  active.  I f  she  approached  the  subject  with 
the  prince  he  reddened  and  grew  ill  at  ease.  The  pres- 
ent seemed,  therefore,  an  opportimity  to  be  utilized. 

240 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

They  were  deep  in  the  northerly  avenues  of  the 
Park,  when  apropos  of  the  dress  topic,  Letty  said, 
suddenly:  "I  suppose  she's  awfully  stylish — the  girl 
he's  engaged  to." 

The  response  was  laconic :  "She's  said  to  be.** 

"Is  she  pretty?" 

"I  don't  think  you  could  say  that." 

"Then  what  does  he  see  in  her  ?" 

"Whatever  people  do  see  in  those  they're  in  love 
with.    I'm  afraid  I'm  not  able  to  define  it." 

Dropping  back  into  her  corner  Letty  sighed.  She 
knew  this  mystery  existed,  the  mystery  of  falling  in 
love  for  reasons  no  one  was  able  to  explain.  It  was 
the  ground  on  which  she  hoped  that  at  first  sight 
someone  would  fall  in  love  with  her.  If  he  didn't 
do  it  for  reasons  beyond  explanation  he  would,  of 
course,  not  do  it  at  all. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  another  question  trem- 
bled to  her  lips.  "Does  she — does  she  know  about 
me?" 

"Oh,  naturally." 

"And  did  she — did  she  feel  very  bad?" 

Barbara's  long  eyes  slid  round  in  Letty's  direction, 
though  the  head  was  not  turned.  "How  should  you 
feel  yourself,  if  it  had  happened  to  you?" 

"It'd  kill  me." 

"Well,  then?"  She  let  Letty  draw  her  own  con- 
clusions before  adding:   "It's  nearly  killed  her." 

Letty  cowered.  She  had  never  thought  of  this. 
That  she  herself  suflfered  she  knew;  that  the  prince 
suffered  she  also  knew;  but  that  this  unknown  girl, 
whatever  her  folly,  lay  smitten  to  the  heart  brought  a 

241 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

new  complication  into  her  ideas.  "Even  if  he  ever 
did  come  to — "  she  held  up  her  unspoken  sentence 
there — "I'd  ha'  stolen  him  from  her." 

There  was  little  more  conversation  after  that.  Each 
had  her  motives  for  reflections  and  silences.  They 
were  nearing  the  end  of  the  drive  when  Letty  said 
again: 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  was — ^if  you  were — 
me;^ 

"I'd  do  whatever  I  felt  to  be  highest." 

To  Letty  this  was  a  beautiful  reply,  and  proof  of 
a  beautiful  nature.  Moreover,  it  was  indirectly  a 
compliment  to  herself,  in  that  she  could  be  credited 
with  doing  what  she  felt  to  be  highest  as  well  as 
anyone  else.  In  her  life  hitherto  she  had  been  figura- 
tively kicked  and  beaten  into  doing  what  she  couldn't 
resist.  Now  she  was  considered  capable  of  acting 
worthily  of  her  own  accord.  It  inspired  a  new  senti- 
ment toward  Miss  Walbrook. 

She  thought,  too,  that  Miss  Walbrook  liked  her  a 
little  better.  Perhaps  it  was  the  fulfillment  of  Step- 
toe's  adage,  love-call  wakes  love-echo.  She  was  sure 
that  somehow  this  call  had  gone  out  from  her  to  Miss 
Walbrook,  and  that  it  hadn't  gone  out  in  vain. 

It  hadn't  gone  out  in  vain,  in  that  Miss  Walbrook 
was  able  to  say  to  herself,  with  some  conviction, 
"That's  the  way  it  will  have  to  be  done."  It  was  a 
way  of  which  her  experiences  in  Bleary  Street  had 
made  her  skeptical.  Among  those  whom  she  called 
the  lower  orders  innocence,  ingenuousness,  and  integ- 
rity were  qualities  for  which  she  had  ceased  to  look. 
She  didn't  look  for  them  anywhere  with  much  con- 

242 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

fidence ;  but  she  had  long  ago  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  poor  were  schemers,  and  were  obliged  to  be 
schemers  because  they  were  poor.  Something  in 
Letty  impressed  her  otherwise.  "That's  the  way,"  she 
continued  to  nod  to  herself.  "It's  no  use  trusting  to 
Rash.  I'll  get  her;  and  she'll  get  him;  and  so  we 
shall  work  it." 

Arrived  in  East  Sixty-seventh  Street  she  went  in 
with  Letty  and  had  tea.  But  it  was  she  who  sat  in 
dear  Mrs.  Allerton's  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  when 
William  brought  in  the  tray  she  said,  "Put  it  here, 
William,"  as  one  who  speaks  with  authority.  Of 
this  usurpation  of  the  right  to  dispense  hospitality 
Letty  did  not  see  the  significance,  being  glad  to  have 
it  taken  off  her  hands. 

Not  so,  however,  with  Steptoe  who  came  in  with  a 
covered  dish  of  muffins.  Having  placed  it  before  Miss 
Walbrook  he  turned  to  Letty. 

"Madam  ain't  feelin'  well?" 

Letty's  tone  expressed  her  surprise.     "Why,  yes." 

"Madam'll  excuse  me.  As  madam  ain't  presidin*  at 
'er  own  tyble  I  was  af ryde " 

It  being  unnecessary  to  say  more  he  tiptoed  out, 
leaving  behind  him  a  declaration  of  war,  which  Miss 
Walbrook,  without  saying  anything  in  words,  was  not 
slow  to  pick  up.  "Insufferable,"  was  her  comment  to 
herself.  Of  the  hostile  forces  against  her  this,  she 
knew,  was  the  most  powerful. 

Neither  did  Rash  perceive  the  significance  of 
Barbara's  place  at  the  tea-table  when  he  entered  about 
five  o'clock,  though  she  was  quick  to  perceive  the 
significance  of  his  arrival.     It  was  not,  however,  a 

243 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

point  to  note  outwardly,  so  that  she  lifted  her  hand 
above  the  tea-kettle,  letting  him  bend  over  it,  as  she 
exclaimed : 

"Welcome  to  our  city!  Do  sit  down  and  make 
yourself  at  home.  Letty  and  I  have  been  for  a  drive, 
and  are  all  ready  to  enjoy  a  little  male  society." 

The  easy  tone  helped  Allerton  over  his  embarrass- 
ment, first  in  finding  the  two  women  face  to  face, 
then  in  coming  so  unexpectedly  face  to  face  with 
them,  and  lastly  in  being  caught  by  Barbara  coming 
home  at  this  unexpected  hour.  Knowing  what  the 
situation  must  mean  to  her  he  admired  her  the  more 
for  her  sangfroid  and  social  flexibility. 

She  took  all  the  difficulties  on  herself.  "Letty  and 
I  have  been  making  friends,  and  are  going  to  know 
each  other  awfully  well,  aren't  we?"  A  smile  at 
Letty  drew  forth  Letty's  smile,  to  Rashleigh's  satis- 
faction, and  somewhat  to  his  bewilderment.  But 
Barbara,  handing  him  a  cup  of  tea,  addressed  him 
directly.     "Who  do  you  think  is  engaged?     Guess." 

He  guessed,  and  guessed  wrong.  He  guessed  a 
second  time,  and  guessed  wrong.  There  followed  a 
conversation  about  people  they  knew,  with  regard  to 
which  Letty  was  altogether  an  outsider.  Now  and 
then  she  recognized  great  names  which  she  had  read 
in  the  papers,  tossed  back  and  forth  without  prefixes 
of  Mr.  or  Miss,  and  often  with  pet  diminutives.  The 
whole  represented  a  closed  corporation  of  intimacies 
into  which  she  could  no  more  force  her  way  than  a 
worm  into  a  billiard  ball.  Rash  who  was  at  first 
beguiled  by  the  interchange  of  personalities  began  to 
experience  a  sense  of  discomfort  that  Letty  should 

244 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

be  so  discourteously  left  out ;  but  Barbara  knew  tha£ 
it  was  best  for  both  to  force  the  lesson  home.  Rash 
must  be  given  to  understand  how  lost  he  would  be 
with  any  outsider  as  his  companion ;  and  Letty  must 
be  made  to  realize  how  hopelessly  an  outsider  she 
would  always  be. 

But  no  lesson  should  be  urged  to  the  quick  at  a 
single  sitting,  so  that  Barbara  broke  off  suddenly  to 
ask  why  he  had  come  home.  In  the  same  way  as  she 
had  given  the  order  to  William  she  spoke  with  the 
authority  of  one  at  liberty  to  ask  the  question.  Not 
to  give  the  real  reason  he  said  that  it  was  to  write  a 
letter  and  change  his  clothes, 

"And  you're  going  back  to  the  Club?" 

He  replied  that  he  was  going  to  dine  with  a  bache- 
lor friend  at  his  apartment. 

"Then  I'll  wait  and  drop  you  at  the  Club.  You  can 
go  on  from  there  afterwards.    I've  got  the  time." 

This  too  was  said  with  an  authority  against  which 
he  felt  himself  unable  to  appeal. 

Having  written  a  note  and  changed  to  his  dinner 
jacket  he  rejoined  them  in  the  drawing-room.  Barbara 
held  out  her  hand  to  Letty,  with  a  briskness  indicating 
relief. 

"So  glad  we  had  our  drive.  I  shall  come  soon 
again.  I  wish  it  could  be  to-morrow,  but  my  aunt 
will  be  using  the  car." 

"There's  my  car,"  Allerton  suggested. 

"Oh,  so  there  is."  Barbara  took  this  proposal  as  a 
matter  of  course.  "Then  we'll  say  to-morrow.  I'll 
call  up  Eugene  and  tell  him  when  to  come  for  me." 

With  Allerton  beside  her,  and  driving  down  Fifth 
245 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Avenue,  she  said :  "I  see  how  to  do  It,  Rash.  You 
must  leave  it  to  me." 

He  replied  in  the  tone  of  a  child  threatened  with 
the  loss  of  his  role  in  a  game.  "I  can't  leave  it  to  you 
altogether." 

"Then  leave  it  to  me  as  much  as  you  can.  I  see 
what  to  do  and  you  don't.  Furthermore,  I  know 
just  how  to  do  it." 

"You're  wonderful,  Barbe,"  he  said,  humbly. 

"I'm  wonderful  so  long  as  you  don't  interfere  with 
me." 

"Oh,  well,  I  shan't  do  that." 

She  turned  to  him  sharply.    "Is  that  a  promise  ?" 

"Why  do  you  want  a  promise?"  he  asked,  in  some 
wonder. 

"Because  I  do." 

"That  is,  you  can't  trust  me." 

"My  dear  Rash,  who  could  trust  you  after  what 
?" 

"Oh,  well,  then,  I  promise." 

"Then  that's  understood.  And  if  anything  hap- 
pens, you  won't  go  hedging  and  saying  you  didn't 
mean  it  in  that  way?" 

"It  seems  to  me  you're  very  suspicious." 

"One's  obliged  to  foresee  everything  with  you. 
Rash.  It  isn't  as  if  one  was  dealing  with  an  ordinary 
man." 

"You  mean  that  I'm  to  give  you  carte  blanche, 
and  have  no  will  of  my  own  at  all." 

"I  mean  that  when  I'm  so  reasonable,  you  must  try 
to  be  reasonable  on  your  side." 

"Well,  I  will." 

246 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

As  they  drew  up  in  front  of  the  New  Netherlands 
Club,  he  escaped  without  committing  himself  further. 

If  he  dined  with  a  bachelor  friend  that  night  he 
must  have  cut  the  evening  short,  for  at  half  past 
nine  he  re-entered  the  back  drawing-room  where  Letty 
was  sitting  before  the  fire,  her  red  book  in  her  lap. 
She  sat  as  a  lover  stands  at  a  tryst  as  to  which  there 
is  no  positive  engagement.  To  fortify  herself  against 
disappointment  she  had  been  trying  to  persuade  her- 
self that  he  wouldn't  come,  and  that  she  didn't  expect 
him. 

He  came,  but  he  came  as  a  man  who  has  something 
on  his  mind.  Almost  without  greeting  he  sat  down, 
took  the  book  from  her  lap  and  proceeded  to  look  up 
the  place  at  which  he  had  left  off. 

"Miss  Walbrook's  lovely,  isn't  she?"  she  said, 
before  he  had  found  the  page. 

"She's  a  very  fine  woman,"  he  assented.  "Do  you 
remember  where  we  stopped?" 

"It  was  at,  *So  let  it  be,  said  the  little  mermaid, 
turning  pale  as  death.'  You  know  her  very  well, 
don't  you?" 

"Oh,  very  well  indeed.  I  think  we  begin  here: 
*But  you  will  have  to  pay  me  also '  " 

"Have  you  known  her  very  long?" 

"All  my  life,  more  or  less." 

"She  says  she  knows  the  girl  you're  engaged  to." 

"Yes,  of  course.  We  all  know  each  other  in  our 
little  set.     Now,  if  you're  ready,  I'll  begin  to  read." 

"  'But  you  will  have  to  pay  me  also,'  said  the  witch; 
*and  it  is  not  a  little  that  I  ask.  Yours  is  the  loveliest 
voice  in  the  world,  and  you  trust  to  that,  I  dare  say, 

247 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

to  charm  your  love.  But  you  must  give  it  to  me. 
For  my  costly  drink  I  claim  the  best  thing  you  pos- 
sess. I  shall  give  you  my  own  blood,  so  that  my 
draught  may  be  as  sharp  as  a  two-edged  sword' 
'But  if  you  take  my  voice  from  me,  what  have  I  left?' 
asked  the  little  mermaid,  piteously.  'Your  loveliness, 
your  graceful  movements,  your  speaking  eyes.  Those 
are  enough  to  win  a  man's  heart.  Well,  is  your  cour- 
age gone  ?  Stretch  out  your  little  tongue,  that  I  may 
cut  it  off,  and  you  shall  have  my  magic  potion.*  *I 
consent,'  said  the  little  mermaid." 

Letty  cried  out :  "So  that  when  she'd  be  with  him 
she'd  understand  everything,  and  not  be  able  to  tell 
him  anything." 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  smiled,  "that  that's  what's  ahead 
of  her,  poor  thing." 

"Oh,  but  that — "  she  could  hardly  utter  her  dis- 
tress— "Oh,  but  that's  worse  than  anything  in  the 
world." 

He  looked  up  at  her  curiously.  "Would  you  rather 
I  didn't  go  on?" 

"No,  no ;  please.    I — I  want  to  hear  it  all." 

At  The  Hindoo  Lantern  Mr.  Gorry  Larrabin  and 
Mr.  Judson  Flack  found  themselves  elbow  to  elbow 
outside  the  rooms  where  their  respective  ladies  were 
putting  the  final  touches  to  their  hats  and  hair  be- 
fore entering  the  grand  circle.  It  was  an  opportunity 
especially  on  Gorry's  part,  to  seal  the  peace  which  had 
been  signed  so  recently. 

**Hello,  Judson.    What's  the  prospects  In  oil?" 
Judson's  tone  was  pessimistic.    "Not  a  thing  doin', 
248 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Gorry.  Awful  slow  bunch,  that  lump  of  nuts  I'm  in 
with  on  this.  Mentioned  your  name  to  one  or  two  of 
'em ;  but  no  enterprise.  Boneheads  that  wouldn't  know 
a  white  man  from  a  crane."  That  he  understood  what 
Gorry  understood  became  clear  as  he  continued: 
"Friend  o'  mine  at  the  Excelsior  passes  me  the  tip  that 
they've  held  up  that  play  they  were  goin'  to  put  my 
girl  into.  Can't  get  anyone  else  that  would  swing  the 
part.  Waitin'  for  her  to  turn  up  again.  I  suppose 
you  haven't  heard  anything,  Grorry?" 

Gorry  looked  him  in  the  eyes  as  straight  as  was 
possiUe  for  a  man  with  a  cast  in  the  left  one.  "Not 
a  thing,  Judson ;  not  a  thing." 

The  accent  was  so  truthful  that  Judson  gave  his 
friend  a  long  comprehending  look.  He  was  sure  that 
Gorry  would  never  speak  with  such  sincerity  if  he 
was  sincere. 

"Well,  I'm  on  the  job,  Gorry,"  he  assured  him,  "and 
one  of  these  days  you'll  hear  from  me." 

"I'm  on  the  job  too,  Judson;  and  one  of  these 
days " 

But  as  Mademoiselle  Coucoul  emerged  from  the 
dressing-room  and  shed  radiance,  Gorry  was  obliged 
to  go  forward. 


Chapter  XX 

IT  was  May. 
In  spite  of  her  conviction  that  she  knew  what  to  do 
and  how  it  to  do  it,  Barbara  perceived  that  at  the  end 
of  seven  months  they  were  much  where  they  had  been 
in  the  previous  October.  If  there  was  a  change  it  was 
that  all  three,  Rashleigh,  Letty,  and  herself,  had  grown 
strained  and  intense. 

Outwardly  they  strove  to  maintain  a  semblance  of 
friendship.  For  that  Barbara  had  worked  hard,  and 
in  a  measure  had  succeeded.  She  had  held  Rash ;  she 
had  won  Letty. 

She  had  more  than  won  Letty ;  she  had  trained  her. 
All  that  in  seven  months  a  woman  of  the  world  could 
do  for  an  unformed  and  ignorant  child  she  had  done. 
Her  experience  at  Bleary  Street  had  helped  her  in 
this;  and  Letty  had  been  quick.  She  had  seized  not 
only  those  small  points  of  speech  and  action  founda- 
tional to  rising  in  the  world,  but  the  point  of  view 
of  those  who  had  risen.  She  knew  how,  Barbara  was 
sure,  that  there  were  certain  things  impossible  to 
people  such  as  those  among  whom  she  had  been 
thrown. 

Since  it  was  May  it  was  the  end  of  a  season,  and 
the  minute  Barbara  had  long  ago  chosen  for  a  master- 
stroke. Each  of  the  others  felt  the  crisis  as  near  as 
she  did  herself. 

"It's  got  to  end,"  Letty  confessed  to  her,  as  amid 
250 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

the  soft  loveliness  of  springtime,  they  were  again 
driving  in  the  Park. 

Barbara  chose  her  words.  "I  suppose  he  feels  that 
too." 

"Then  why  don't  he  let  me  end  it?" 

"I  fancy  that  that's  a  difficult  position  for  a  man. 
If  you  ask  his  permission  beforehand  he  feels  obliged 
to  say " 

"And  perhaps,"  Letty  suggested,  "he's  too  tender- 
hearted." 

"That's  part  of  it.  He  is  tender-hearted.  Besides 
that,  his  position  is  grotesque — a.  man  with  whom  two 
women  are  in  love.  To  one  of  them  he's  been  nomi- 
nally married,  while  to  the  other  he's  bound  by  every  tie 
of  honor.  No  wonder  he  doesn't  see  his  way.  If 
he  moves  toward  the  one  he  hurts  the  other — a,  man  to 
whom  it's  agony  to  hurt  a  fly." 

"Does  the  other  girl  still  feel  the  way  she  did?" 

"She's  killing  herself.  She's  breaking  her  heart. 
Nobody  knows  it  but  him  and  her — and  even  he 
doesn't  take  it  in.    But  she  is." 

"I  suppose  she  thinks  I'm  something  awful." 

"Does  it  matter  to  you  what  she  thinks?" 

"I  don't  want  her  to  hate  me." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  say  she  did  that.  She  feels  that, 
considering  everything,  you  might  have  acted  with 
more  decision." 

"But  he  won't  let  me." 

"And  he  never  will,  if  you  wait  for  that." 

"Then  what  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do?" 

'That's  where  I  find  you  weak,  Letty,  since  you 
ask  me  the  question.  No  one  can  tell  you  what  to 
17  251 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

do— and  he  least  of  all.  It*s  a  situation  in  which  one 
of  you  must  withdraw — either  you  or  the  other  girl. 
But,  don't  you  see  ?  he  can't  say  so  to  either." 

"And  if  one  of  us  must  withdraw  you  think  it 
should  be  me." 

"I  have  to  leave  that  to  you.  You're  the  one  who 
butted  in.  I  know  it  wasn't  your  fault — ^that  the  fault 
was  his  entirely ;  but  we  recognize  the  fact  that  he's — 
how  shall  I  put  it  ? — not  quite  responsible.  We  women 
have  to  take  the  burden  of  the  thing  on  ourselves,  if 
it's  ever  to  be  put  right." 

In  her  comer  of  the  car  Letty  thought  this  over. 
The  impression  on  her  mind  was  the  deeper  since,  for 
several  months  past,  she  had  watched  the  prince  grow- 
ing more  and  more  unhappy.  He  was  less  nervous 
than  he  used  to  be,  less  excitable ;  and  for  that  he  had 
told  her  the  credit  was  due  to  herself.  "You  soothe 
me,"  he  had  once  said  to  her,  in  words  she  would 
always  treasure;  and  yet  as  his  irritability  decreased 
his  unhappiness  seemed  to  grow.  She  could  only  infer 
that  he  was  mourning  over  the  girl  to  whom  he  was 
engaged,  and  on  whom  he  had  inflicted  a  great  wrong. 
For  the  last  few  weeks  Letty's  mind  had  occupied 
itself  with  her  almost  more  than  with  the  prince 
himself. 

"Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  see  her?"  she  asked, 
suddenly  now. 

Barbara  reflected.  "I  think  you  could  if  you  wanted 
to." 

''Should  you  arrange  it?" 

"I  could." 

**You*re  sure  she'd  be  willing  to  see  me?*^ 
252 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Yes ;  I  know  she  would." 

**When  could  you  do  it?" 

"Whenever  you  like.** 

"Soon?" 

"Yes;  sooner  perhaps  than — "  Barbara  spoke 
absently,  as  if  a  new  idea  was  taking  possession  of 
her  mind — "sooner  perhaps  than  you  think." 

"And  you  say  she's  breaking  her  heart?" 

"A  little  more,  and  it  will  be  broken." 

By  the  time  Letty  had  been  set  down  at  the  door  in 
East  Sixty-seventh  Street  the  afternoon  had  grown 
chilly.  In  the  back  drawing-room  Steptoe  was  on  his 
knees  lighting  the  fire.  Letty  came  and  stood  behind 
him.  Without  preliminary  of  any  kind  she  said, 
quietly : 

"Steptoe,  it's  got  to  end." 

Expecting  a  protest  she  was  surprised  that  he  should 
merely  blow  on  the  shivering  flame,  saying,  in  the 
interval  between  two  long  breaths:  "I  agrees  with 
madam." 

"And  it's  me  that  must  end  it." 

He  blew  gently  again.     "I  guess  that'd  be  so  too." 

She  thought  of  the  little  mermaid  leaping  into  the 
sea,  and  trembling  away  into  foam.  "If  he  wants  to 
marry  the  girl  he's  in  love  with  he'll  never  do  it  the 
way  we're  living  now." 

He  rose  from  his  knees,  dusting  one  hand  against 
the  other.  "Madam's  quite  right.  'E  won't — ^not 
never." 

She  threw  out  her  arms,  and  moaned.  "And,  O 
Steptoe !    I'm  so  tired  of  it." 

"Madam's  tired  of ?" 

253 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Of  living  here,  and  doing  nothing,  and  just  watch- 
ing and  waiting,  and  nothing  never  happening " 

"Does  madam  remember  that,  the  dye  when  she  first 
come  I  said  there  was  two  reasons  why  I  wanted  to 
myke  'er  into  a  lydy?" 

Letty  nodded. 

"The  one  I  told  'er  was  that  I  wanted  to  *elp  some- 
one who  was  like  what  I  used  to  be  myself." 

"I  remember." 

"And  the  other,  what  I  didn't  tell  madam.  111  tell  *er 
now.  It  was — it  was  I  was  'opin'  that  a  woman'd  come 
into  my  poor  boy's  life  as'd  comfort  'im  like " 

"And  she  didn't  come." 

"  'E  ain't  seen  that  she's  come.  I  said  it'd  be  a 
tough  job  to  bring  'im  to  f allin'  in  love  with  'er  like ; 
but  it's  been  tougher  than  what  I  thought  it'd  be." 

"So  that  I  must — must  do  something." 

"Looks  as  if  madam'd  'ave  to." 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  there's  an  easy  way  for 
me  to  do  it  ?" 

"Nothink  ain't  so  very  easy;  but  if  madam  'as  a 
big  enough  reason " 

She  felt  the  necessity  of  being  plain.  "I  suppose 
that  if  he  hadn't  picked  me  up  in  the  Park  that  day 
I'd  have  gone  to  the  bad  anyhow." 

"If  madam's  thinkin'  about  goin*  to  the  bad " 

She  threw  up  her  head  defiantly.  "Well,  I  am. 
What  of  it?" 

"I  was  just  thinkin'  as  I  might  'elp  'er  a  bit  about 
that." 

She  was  puzzled.    "I  don't  think  you  know  what  I 

said.    I  said  I  was " 

254 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Goin'  to  the  bad,  madam.  That's  what  I  under- 
stood. But  madam  won't  find  it  so  easy,  not  'avin 
'ad  no  experience  like,  as  you  might  sye." 

"I  didn't  know  you  needed  experience — for  that." 

"All  good  people  thinks  that  wye,  madam;  but 
when  you  tackle  it  deliberate  like,  there's  quite  a  trick 
to  it." 

"And  do  you  know  the  trick?"  was  all  she  could 
think  of  saying. 

"I  may  not  know  the  very  hidentical  trick  madam'd 
be  in  want  of — 'er  bein'  a  lydy,  as  you  might  sye — but 
I  could  put  'er  in  the  wye  of  findin'  out." 

"You  don't  think  I  could  find  out  for  myself  ?" 

"You  see,  it's  like  this.  I  used  to  know  a  young 
man  what  everythink  went  ag'in'  *im.  And  one  dye 
*e  started  out  for  to  be  a  forgerer  like — so  as  'e'd  be 
put  in  jyle — and  be  took  care  of — ^board  and  lodgin* 
free — ^and  all  that.  Well,  out  'e  starts,  and  not  knowin* 
the  Httle  ins  and  outs,  as  you  might  sye,  everythink 
went  agin  'im,  just  as  it  done  before.  And,  would 
madam  believe  it  ?  that  young  man  'e  hended  by  study- 
ing for  the  ministry.  Madam  wouldn't  want  to  myke 
a  mistyke  like  that,  now  would  she?" 

Letty  turned  this  over  in  her  mind.  A  career  par- 
allel to  that  of  this  young  man  would  effect  none  of 
the  results  she  was  aiming  at. 

"Then  what  would  you  suggest?"  she  asked,  at 
last. 

"I  could  give  madam  the  address  of  a  lydy — ^an 
awful  wicked  lydy,  she  is — what'd  put  madam  up  to 
all  the  ropes.  If  madam  was  to  go  out  into  the  cold 
world,  like,  this  lydy'd  give  'er  a  home.    Besides  the 

255 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

address  I'd  give  madam  a  sign  like — so  as  the  lydy'd 
know  it  was  somethink  special." 

"A  sign?    I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"It'd  be  this,  madam."  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
small  silver  thimble.  "This'd  be  a  password  to  the 
lydy.  The  minute  she'd  see  it  she'd  know  that  the 
time  'ad  come." 

'What  time?" 

"That's  somethink  madam'd  find  out.  I  couldn't 
explyne  it  before'and." 

"It  sounds  very  queer." 

"It'd  be  very  queer.  Goin'  to  the  bad  is  always 
queer.  Madam  wouldn't  look  for  it  to  be  like  'avin' 
a  gentleman  lead  'er  in  to  dinner." 

"What's  she  like— the  lady?" 

"That's  somethink  madam'd  'ave  to  wyte  and  see. 
She  wouldn't  seem  so  wicked,  not  at  first  sight,  as 
you  might  sye.  But  time'd  tell.  If  madam'd  be 
p3rtient — well,  I  wouldn't  like  to  sye."  He  eyed  the 
fire.  "I  think  that  fire'll  burn  now,  madam;  and  if 
it  don't,  madam'll  only  'ave  to  ring." 

He  was  at  the  door  when  Letty,  feeling  the  end  of 
all  things  to  be  at  hand,  ran  after  him,  laying  her 
fingers  on  his  sleeve. 

"Oh,  Steptoe ;  you've  been  so  good  to  me !" 

He  relaxed  from  his  dignity  sufficiently  to  let  his 
hand  rest  on  hers,  which  he  patted  gently.  "I've  been 
madam's  servant — and  my  boy's." 

"I  shall  never  think  of  you  as  a  servant — never." 

The  frosty  color  rose  into  his  cheeks.  "Then 
madam'll  do  me  a  great  wrong." 

^To  me  you're  so  much  higher  than  a  servant " 

256 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"Madam'U  find  that  there  ain't  nothink  'igher  than 
a  servant.  There's  a  lot  about  service  in  the  pypers 
nowadyes,  crackin'  it  up,  like ;  but  nobody  don't  seem 
to  remember  that  servants  knows  more  about  that 
than  what  other  people  do,  and  servants  don't  remem- 
ber it  theirselves.  So  long  as  I  can  serve  madam,  just 
as  I've  served  my  boy " 

"Oh,  but,  Steptoe,  I  shall  have  gone  to  the  bad." 

"That'd  be  all  the  syme  to  me,  madam.  At  my  time 
o'  life  I  don't  see  no  difference  between  them  as  'as 
gone  to  the  bad  and  them  as  'as  gone  to  the  good,  as 
you  might  sye.    I  only  sees — ^people." 

Left  alone  Letty  went  back  to  the  fire,  and  stood 
gazing  down  at  it,  her  foot  on  the  fender.  So  it  was  the 
end.   Even  Steptoe  said  so.   In  a  sense  she  was  relieved. 

She  was  relieved  at  the  prospect  of  being  freed 
from  her  daily  torture.  The  little  mermaid  walking  on 
blades  in  the  palace  of  the  prince,  and  forever  dumb, 
had  known  bliss,  but  bliss  so  akin  to  anguish  that 
her  heart  was  consumed  by  it.  The  very  fact  that 
the  prince  himself  suffered  from  the  indefinable  misery 
which  her  presence  seemed  to  bring  made  escape  the 
more  enticing. 

She  was  so  buried  In  this  reflection  as  to  have  heard 
no  sound  in  the  house,  when  Steptoe  announced  in 
his  stately  voice :  "Miss  Barbara  Walbrook.'*  Hav- 
ing parted  from  this  lady  half  an  hour  earlier  Letty 
turned  in  some  surprise. 

"I've  come  back  again,"  was  the  explanation,  sent 
down  the  long  room.  "Don't  let  William  bring  in 
tea,"  the  imperious  voice  commanded  Steptoe.  "We 
wish  to  be  alone."    There  was  the  same  abruptness  as 

257 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

she  halted  within  two  or  three  feet  of  where  Letty 
stood,  supporting  herself  with  a  hand  on  the  edge  of 
the  mantelpiece.  "I've  come  back  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. I  made  up  my  mind  to  it  all  at  once — ^after  I 
left  you  a  few  minutes  aga  Now  that  I've  done  it  I 
feel  easier." 

Letty  didn't  know  which  was  uppermost  in  her 
mind,  curiosity  or  fear.  "What — ^what  is  it?"  she 
asked,  trembling. 

"I've  given  up  the  fight.    I'm  out  of  it." 

Letty  crept  forward.  "You've — ^you've  done 
tvhatr 

"I  told  you  in  the  Park  that  one  or  the  other  of  us 
would  have  to  withdraw " 

"One  or  the  other  of — of  ils?" 

"Exactly  and  I've  done  it." 

With  horror  in  her  face  and  eyes  Letty  crept  nearer 
still.     "But — ^but  I  don't  understand." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  How  can  you  help  understand- 
ing.   You  must  have  seen  all  along  that " 

"Not  that — ^that  you  were — ^the  other  girl.  Oh,  not 
that!" 

"Yes,  that^  of  course;  why  not?" 

"Because — ^because  I — I  couldn't  bear  it." 

"You  can  bear  it  if  I  can,  can't  you — ^if  I've  had  to 
bear  it  all  these  weeks  and  months." 

"Yes,  but  that's — "  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands — "that's  what  makes  it  so  terrible." 

"Of  course  it  makes  it  terrible ;  but  it  isn't  as  terri- 
ble now  as  it  was — ^to  you  anyhow." 

"But  why  do  you  withdraw  when — ^when  you  love 

him — ^and  he  loves  you ?" 

258 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"I  do  it  because  I  want  to  throw  all  tlie  cards  on 
the  table.  It's  what  my  common  sense  has  been  tell- 
ing me  to  do  all  along,  only  I've  never  worked  round 
to  it  till  we  had  our  talk  this  afternoon.  Now  I 
see 

"What  do  you  see,  Miss  Walbrook?" 

**I  see  that  we've  got  to  give  him  a  clean  sheet,  or 
he'll  never  know  where  he  is.  He  can't  decide  be- 
tween us  because  he's  in  an  impossible  position.  We'll 
have  to  set  him  absolutely  free,  so  that  he  may  begin 
again.  I'll  do  it  on  my  side.  You  can  do — what 
you  like." 

She  went  as  abruptly  as  she  came,  leaving  Letty 
clearer  than  ever  as  to  her  new  course. 

By  midnight  she  was  ready.  In  the  back  spare  room 
she  waited  only  to  be  sure  that  all  in  the  house  were 
asleep. 

She  had  heard  Allerton  come  in  about  half  past 
nine,  and  the  whispering  of  voices  told  that  Steptoe 
was  making  his  explanations,  that  she  was  out  of 
sorts,  had  dined  in  her  room,  and  begged  not  to  be 
disturbed.  At  about  half  past  ten  she  heard  the 
prince  go  upstairs  to  his  own  room,  though  she  fancied 
that  outside  her  door  he  had  paused  for  a  second  to 
listen.  That  was  the  culminating  minute  of  her  self- 
repression.  Once  it  was  over,  and  he  had  gone  on  his 
way,  she  knew  the  rest  would  be  easier. 

By  midnight  she  had  only  to  wait  quietly.  In  the 
old  gray  rag  and  the  battered  black  hat  she  surveyed 
herself  without  emotion.  Since  making  her  last 
attempt  to  escape  her  relation  to  all  these  things  had 
changed.    They  had  become  less  significant,  less  im- 

259 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

portant.  The  emblems  of  the  higher  life  which  in 
the  previous  autumn  she  had  buried  with  ritual  and 
regret  she  now  packed  away  in  the  closet,  with  hardly 
a  second  thought.  The  old  gray  rag  which  had  then 
seemed  the  livery  of  a  degraded  life  was  now  no 
more  than  the  resumption  of  her  reality. 

"I'll  go  as  I  came,"  she  had  been  saying  to  herself, 
all  the  evening.  "I  know  he'd  like  me  to  take  the 
things  he's  given  me;  but  I'd  rather  be  just  what  I 
was." 

If  there  was  any  ritual  in  what  she  had  done  since 
Miss  Walbrook  had  left  her  it  was  in  the  putting  away 
of  small  things  by  which  she  didn't  want  to  be 
haimted. 

"I  couldn't  do  it  with  this  on,"  she  said  of  the  plain 
gold  band  on  her  finger,  to  which,  as  a  symbol  of 
marriage,  she  had  never  attached  significance  in  any 
case. 

She  took  it  off,  therefore,  and  laid  it  on  the  dress- 
ing table. 

"I  couldn't  do  it  with  this  in  my  pocket,"  she  said 
of  the  purse  containing  a  few  dollars,  with  which 
Steptoe  had  kept  her  supplied. 

This  too  she  laid  on  the  dressing  table,  becoming 
as  penniless  as  when  Judson  Flack  had  put  her  out  of 
doors.  Somehow,  to  be  penniless  seemed  to  her  an 
ekment  in  her  new  task,  and  an  excuse  for  it. 

Since  Allerton  had  never  made  her  a  present  there 
was  nothing  of  this  kind  to  discard.  It  had  been  part 
of  his  non-committal,  impersonal  attitude  toward  h^ 
that  he  had  never  given  her  a  concrete  sign  that  she 
meant  anything  to  him  whatever.    He  had  thanked 

260 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

her  on  occasions  for  the  comforting  quality  he  found 
in  her  presence.  He  had,  in  so  many  words,  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  when  he  got  into  a  tantrum  of 
nerves  she  could  bring  him  out  of  it  as  no  one  else 
had  ever  done.  He  had  also  imparted  to  her  the  dis- 
covery that  in  reading  to  her,  and  trying  to  show  her 
the  point  of  view  of  a  life  superior  to  her  own,  he 
had  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  done  something  for 
someone  else ;  but  he  had  never  gone  beyond  all  this  or 
allowed  her  to  think  that  his  heart  was  not  given  to 
"the  girl  he  was  engaged  to."  In  that  at  least  he  had 
been  loyal  to  the  mysterious  princess,  as  the  little  mer- 
maid could  not  but  see. 

She  was  not  consciously  denuded,  as  she  would  have 
felt  herself  six  months  earlier.  As  to  that  she  was 
not  thinking  anything  at  all.  Her  motive,  in  setting 
free  the  prince  from  the  "drag"  on  him  which  she 
now  recognized  herself  to  be,  filled  all  her  mental 
horizons.  So  dominated  was  she  by  this  overwhelm- 
ing impulse  as  to  have  no  thought  even  for  self-pity. 

When  a  clock  somewhere  struck  one  she  took  it  as 
the  summons.  From  the  dressing-table  she  picked  up 
the  scrawl  in  Steptoe's  hand,  giving  the  name  of  Miss 
Henrietta  Towell,  at  an  address  at  Red  Point,  L.  I. 
She  knew  Red  Point,  on  the  tip  of  Long  Island,  as 
a  distant,  partially  developed  suburb  of  Brooklyn.  In 
the  previous  year  she  had  gone  with  a  half  dozen  other 
girl  "supes"  from  the  Excelsior  Studio  to  "blow  in" 
a  quarter  looking  at  the  ocean  steamers  passing  in  and 
out.  She  had  no  intention  of  intruding  on  Miss  Towell, 
but  she  couldn't  hurt  Steptoe's  feelings  by  leaving  the 
address  behind  her. 

261 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

For  the  same  reason  she  took  the  silver  thimble 
which  stood  on  the  scrap  of  paper.  On  its  rim  she 
read  the  inscription,  "H.T.  from  H.S."  but  she  made 
no  attempt  to  unravel  the  romance  behind  it.  She 
merely  slipped  the  scrawl  and  the  thimble  into  the 
pocket  of  her  jacket,  and  stood  up. 

She  took  no  farewells.  To  do  so  would  have  un- 
nerved her.  On  the  landing  outside  her  door  she 
listened  for  a  possible  sound  of  the  prince's  breathing, 
but  the  house  was  still.  In  the  lower  hall  she  resisted 
the  impulse  to  slip  into  the  library  and  kiss  the  place 
where  she  had  kissed  his  feet  on  the  memorable  morn- 
ing when  her  hand  had  been  on  his  brow.  "That  won't 
help  me  any,"  were  the  prosaic  words  with  which  she 
put  the  suggestion  away  from  her.  If  the  little  mer- 
maid was  to  leap  over  the  ship's  side  and  dissolve  into 
foam  the  best  thing  she  could  do  was  to  leap. 

The  door  no  longer  held  secrets.  She  had  locked 
it  and  unlocked  it  a  thousand  times.  Feeling  for  the 
chain  in  the  darkness  she  slipped  it  out  of  its  socket ; 
she  drew  back  the  bolt;  she  turned  the  key.  Her 
fingers  foimd  the  two  little  brass  knobs,  pressing  this 
one  that  way,  and  that  one  this  way.  The  door  rolled 
softly  as  she  turned  the  handle. 

Over  the  threshold  she  passed  into  a  world  of  silence, 
darkness,  electricity,  and  stars.  She  closed  the  door 
noiselessly.    She  went  down  the  steps, 


262 


Chapter  XXI 

HAVING  the  choice  between  going  southward 
either  by  Fifth  Avenue  or  by  Madison  Avenue, 
Letty  took  the  former  for  the  reason  that  there  were 
no  electric  cars  crashing  through  it,  so  that  she  would 
be  less  observed.  It  seemed  to  her  important  to  get 
as  far  from  East  Sixty-seventh  Street  as  possible  be- 
fore letting  a  human  glance  take  note  of  her  per- 
sonality, even  as  a  drifting  silhouette. 

In  this  she  was  fortunate.  For  the  hour  between 
one  and  two  in  the  early  morning  this  part  of  Fifth 
Avenue  was  unusually  empty.  There  was  not  a  pedes- 
trian, and  only  a  rare  motor  car.  When  one  of  the 
latter  flashed  by  she  shrank  into  the  shadow  of  a  great 
house,  lest  some  eye  of  miraculous  discernment  should 
light  on  her.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all  New  York 
must  be  ready  to  read  her  secret,  and  be  on  the  watch 
to  turn  her  back. 

She  didn't  know  why  she  was  going  southward 
rather  than  northward,  except  that  southward  lay 
the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  and  beyond  the  Brooklyn  Bridge 
lay  Beehive  Valley,  and  within  Beehive  Valley  the 
Excelsior  Studio,  and  in  the  Excelsior  Studio  the  faint 
possibility  of  a  job.  She  was  already  thinking  In 
the  terms  that  went  with  the  old  gray  rag  and  the 
battered  hat,  and  had  come  back  to  them  as  to  her 
mother-tongue.  In  forsaking  paradise  for  the 
limbo  of  outcast  souls  she  was  at  least  supported 

263 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

by  the  fact  that  in  the  limbo  of  outcast  souls  she  was 
at  home. 

She  was  not  frightened.  Now  that  she  was  out  of 
the  prince's  palace  she  had  suddenly  become  sensation- 
less.  She  was  like  a  soul  which  having  reached  the 
other  side  of  death  is  conscious  only  of  release  from 
pain.  She  was  no  longer  walking  on  blades ;  she  was 
no  longer  attempting  the  impossible.  Between  her 
and  the  life  which  Barbara  Walbrook  understood  the 
few  steps  she  had  taken  had  already  marked  the  gulf. 
The  gulf  had  always  been  there,  yawning,  unbridgable, 
only  that  she,  Letty  Gravely,  had  tried  to  shut  her 
eyes  to  it.  She  had  tried  to  shut  her  eyes  to  it  in  the 
hope  that  the  man  she  loved  might  come  to  do  the 
same.  She  knew  now  how  utterly  foolish  any  such 
hope  had  been. 

She  would  have  perceived  this  earlier  had  he  not 
from  time  to  time  revived  the  hope  when  it  was  about 
to  flicker  out.  More  than  once  he  had  confessed  to 
depending  on  her  sympathy.  More  than  once  he  had 
told  her  that  she  drew  out  something  he  had  hardly 
dared  think  he  possessed,  but  which  made  him  more  of 
a  man.  Once  he  harked  back  to  the  dust  flower,  say- 
ing that  as  its  humble  and  heavenly  bloom  brightened 
the  spots  bereft  of  beauty  so  she  cheered  the  lonely  and 
comfortless  places  in  his  heart.  He  had  said  these 
things  not  as  one  who  is  in  love,  but  as  one  who  is 
grateful,  only  that  between  gratitude  and  love  she  had 
purposely  kept  from  drawing  the  distinction. 

She  did  not  reproach  him.  On  the  contrary,  she 
blessed  him  even  for  being  grateful.  That  meed  he 
gave  her  at  least,  and  that  he  should  give  her  anything 

264 


THE   DUST  FLOWER 

at  all  was  happiness.  Leaving  his  palace  she  did  s» 
with  nothing  but  grateful  thoughts  on  her  own  side. 
He  had  smiled  on  her  always ;  he  had  been  considerate, 
kindly,  and  very  nearly  tender.  For  what  he  called 
the  wrong  he  had  done  her,  which  she  held  to  be  no 
wrong  at  all,  he  would  have  made  amends  so  magnifi- 
cent that  the  mere  acceptance  would  have  overwhelmed 
her.  Since  he  couldn't  give  her  the  one  thing  she 
craved  her  best  course  was  like  the  little  mermaid  to 
tremble  into  foam,  and  become  a  spirit  of  the  wind. 

It  was  what  she  was  doing.  She  was  going  without 
leaving  a  trace.  A  girl  more  important  than  she  couldn't 
have  done  it  so  easily.  A  Barbara  Walbrook  had  she 
attempted  a  freak  so  mad,  would  be  discovered  within 
twenty-four  hours.  It  was  one  of  the  advantages  of 
extreme  obscurity  that  you  came  and  went  without  no- 
tice. No  matter  how  conspicuously  a  Letty  Gravely  passed 
it  would  not  be  remembered  that  she  had  gone  by. 

With  regard  to  this,  however,  she  made  one  reserve. 
She  couldn't  disappear  forever,  not  any  more  than 
Judith  of  Bethulia  when  she  went  to  the  tent  of  Holo- 
f ernes.  The  history  of  Judith  was  not  in  Letty 's  mind, 
because  she  had  never  heard  of  it ;  there  was  only  the 
impulse  to  the  same  sort  of  sacrifice.  Since  Israel 
could  be  delivered  only  in  one  way,  that  way  Judith 
had  been  ready  to  take.  To  Letty  her  prince  was  her 
Israel.  One  day  she  would  have  to  inform  him  that 
the  Holofernes  of  his  captivity  was  slain — that  at 
last  he  was  free. 

There  were  lines  along  which  Letty  was  not  imagi- 
native, and  one  of  those  lines  ran  parallel  to  Judith's 
experience.    When  it  came  to  love  at  first  sight,  she 

265 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

could  invent  as  many  situations  as  there  were  million- 
aires in  the  subway.  In  interpreting  a  part  she  had 
views  of  her  own  beyond  any  held  by  Luciline  Ljmch. 
As  to  matters  of  dress  her  fancy  was  boundless. 

Her  limitations  were  in  the  practical.  Among  prac- 
tical things  "going  to  the  bad"  was  now  her  chief 
preoccupation.  She  had  always  imderstood  that  when 
you  made  up  your  mind  to  do  it  you  had  only  to 
present  yourself.  The  way  was  broad ;  the  gate  wide 
open.  There  were  wicked  people  on  every  side  eager 
to  pull  you  through.  You  had  only  to  go  out  into  the 
street,  after  dark  especially — ^and  there  you  were ! 

Having  walked  some  three  or  four  blocks  she  made 
out  the  figure  of  a  man  coming  up  the  hill  toward 
her.  Her  heart  stopped  beating;  her  knees  quaked. 
This  was  doom.  She  would  meet  it,  of  course,  since 
her  doom  would  be  the  prince's  salvation;  but  she 
couldn't  help  trembling  as  she  watched  it  coming  on. 

By  the  light  of  an  arc-lamp  she  saw  that  he  was  in 
evening  dress.  The  wicked  millionaires  who,  in 
motion-pictures,  were  the  peril  of  young  girls,  were 
always  so  attired.  Iphigenia  could  not  have  trodden 
to  the  altar  with  a  more  consuming  mental  anguish 
than  Letty  as  she  dragged  herself  toward  this  ap- 
proaching fate;  but  she  did  so  drag  herself  without 
mercy.  For  a  minute  as  he  drew  near  she  was  on  the 
point  of  begging  him  to  spare  her ;  but  she  saved  her- 
self in  time  from  this  frustration  of  her  task. 

The  man,  a  young  stock-broker  in  a  bad  financial 
plight,  scarcely  noticed  that  a  female  figure  was  pass- 
ing him.  Had  the  morrow's  market  been  less  a  matter 
of  life  and  death  to  him  he  might  have  thrown  her  a 

266 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

glance ;  but  as  it  was  she  did  not  come  within  the  range 
of  his  consciousness.  To  her  amazement,  and  even  to 
her  consternation,  Letty  saw  him  go  onward  up  the 
hill,  his  eyes  straight  before  him,  and  his  profile 
sharply  cut  in  the  electric  light. 

She  explained  the  situation  by  the  fact  that  he 
hadn't  seen  her  at  all.  That  a  man  could  actually  see 
a  girl,  in  such  unusual  conditions,  and  still  go  by 
inoffensively,  was  as  contrary  to  all  she  had  heard  of 
life  as  it  would  have  been  to  the  principles  of  a  Turk- 
ish woman  to  suppose  that  one  of  this  sex  could  be- 
hold her  face  and  not  fall  fiercely  in  love  with  her. 
As,  however,  two  men  were  now  coming  up  the  hill 
together  Letty  was  obliged  to  re-organize  her  forces 
to  meet  the  new  advance. 

She  couldn't  reason  this  time  that  they  hadn't  seen 
her,  because  their  heads  turned  in  her  direction,  and 
the  intonation  of  the  words  she  couldn't  articulately 
hear  was  that  of  faint  surprise.  Further  than  that 
there  was  no  incident.  They  were  young  men  too, 
also  in  evening  dress,  and  of  the  very  type  of  which 
all  her  warnings  had  bidden  her  beware.  The  im- 
munity from  insult  was  almost  a  matter  for  chagrin. 

As  she  approached  Fifty-ninth  Street  encounters 
were  nearly  as  numerous  as  they  would  have  been  in 
daylight;  but  Letty  went  on  her  way  as  if,  instead  of 
the  old  gray  rag,  she  wore  the  magic  cloak  of  invisi- 
bility. So  it  was  during  the  whole  of  the  long  half 
mile  between  Fifty-ninth  Street  and  Forty-second 
Street.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  the  only  un- 
escorted woman  she  saw,  no  invitation  "to  go  to  the 
bad"  was  proffered  her,  "There's  quite  a  trick  to  it," 
18  267 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Steptoe  had  said,  in  the  afternoon;  and  she  began  to 
think  that  there  was. 

At  Forty-second  Street,  for  no  reason  that  she  could 
explain,  she  turned  into  the  lower  and  quieter  spur  of 
Madison  Avenue,  climbing  and  descending  Murray 
Hill.  Here  she  was  almost  alone.  Motor-car  traffic 
had  practically  ceased;  foot-passengers  there  were 
none;  on  each  side  of  the  street  the  houses  were 
somber  and  somnolent.  The  electric  lamps  flared  as 
elsewhere,  but  with  little  to  light  up. 

Her  sense  of  being  lost  became  awesome.  It  began 
to  urge  itself  in  on  her  that  she  was  going  nowhere, 
and  had  nowhere  to  go.  She  was  back  in  the  days 
when  she  had  walked  away  from  Judson  Flack's,  with- 
out the  same  heart  in  the  adventure.  She  recalled 
now  that  on  that  day  she  had  felt  young,  daring,  equal 
to  anything  that  fate  might  send ;  now  she  felt  curiously 
old  and  experienced.  All  her  illusions  had  been  dished 
up  to  her  at  once  and  been  blown  away  as  by  a  hur- 
ricane. The  little  mermaid  who  had  loved  the  prince 
and  failed  to  win  his  love  in  return  could  have  nothing 
more  to  look  forward  to. 

She  was  drifting,  drifting,  when  suddenly  from  the 
shadow  of  a  flight  of  broad  steps  a  man  stalked  out 
and  confronted  her.  He  confronted  her  with  such 
evident  intention  that  she  stopped.  Not  till  she 
stopped  could  she  see  that  he  was  a  policeman  in  his 
summer  uniform. 

"Where  you  goin',  sister?" 

"I  ain't  goin'  nowheres." 

She  fell  back  on  the  old  form  of  speech  as  on  an- 
other tongue. 

268 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Where  you  come  from  then?" 

Feeling  now  that  she  had  gone  to  the  bad,  or  was 
at  the  beginning  of  that  process,  she  made  a  reply 
that  would  seem  probable.  "I  come  from  a  fella  I've 
been — I've  been  livin'  with." 

"Gee!"  The  tone  was  of  deepest  pity.  "Darned 
sorry  to  hear  you're  in  that  box,  a  nice  girl  like  you." 

"I  ain't  such  a  nice  girl  as  you  might  think." 

"Gee !  Anyone  can  see  you're  a  nice  girl,  just  from 
the  way  you  walk." 

Letty  was  astounded.  Was  the  way  you  walked 
part  of  Steptoe's  "trick  to  it?"  In  the  hope  of  getting 
information  she  said,  still  in  the  secondary  tongue: 
"What's  the  matter  with  the  way  I  walk?" 

"There's  nothin'  the  matter  with  it.  That's  the 
trouble.  Anyone  can  see  that  you're  not  a  girl  that's 
used  to  bein'  on  the  street  at  this  hour  of  the  night. 
Ain't  you  goin'  anywheres?" 

Fear  of  the  police-station  suddenly  made  her  faint. 
If  she  wasn't  going  anywheres  he  might  arrest  her. 
She  bethought  her  of  Steptoe's  scrawled  address. 
"Yes,  I'm  goin'  there." 

As  he  stepped  under  the  arc-light  to  read  it  she  saw 
that  he  was  a  fatherly  man,  on  the  distant  outskirts 
of  youth,  who  might  well  have  a  family  of  growing 
boys  and  girls. 

"That's  a  long  ways  from  here,"  he  said,  handing 
the  scrap  of  paper  back  to  her.  "Why  don't  you 
take  the  subway?  At  this  time  of  night  there's  a 
train  every  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"I  ain't  got  no  bones.    I'm  footin'  it." 

"Footin' it  all  the  way  to  Red  Point?  You?  Gee!" 
269 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Once  more  Letty  felt  that  about  her  there  was  some- 
thing which  put  her  out  of  the  key  of  her  adventure. 

"Well,  what's  there  against  me  footin'  it?" 

"There's  nothin'  against  you  footin'  it — on'y  you 
don't  seem  that  sort.  Haven't  you  got  as  much  as 
two  bits?  It  wouldn't  come  to  that  if  you  took  the 
subway  over  here  at " 

"Well,  I  haven't  got  two  bits;  nor  one  bit;  nor 
nothin'  at  all;  so  I  guess  I'll  be  lightin'  out." 

She  had  nodded  and  passed,  when  a  stride  of  his 
long  legs  brought  him  up  to  her  again.  "Well,  see 
here,  sister!  If  you  haven't  got  two  bits,  take  this. 
I  can't  have  you  trampin'  all  the  way  over  to  Red 
Point — ^not  you!" 

Before  knowing  what  had  happened  Letty  found 
her  hand  closing  over  a  silver  half-dollar,  while  her 
benefactor,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  act,  was  off  again  on 
his  beat.  She  ran  after  him.  Her  excitement  was 
such  that  she  forgot  the  secondary  language. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  accept  this  from  you.  Please! 
Don't  make  me  take  it.  I'm — "  She  felt  it  the  moment 
for  making  the  confession,  and  possibly  getting  hints 
— "I'm — I'm  goin'  to  the  bad,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  so  that's  the  talk !  I  thought  you  said  you'd 
gone  to  the  bad  already.  Oh,  no,  sister;  you  don't 
put  that  over  on  me,  not  a  nice  looker  like  you !" 

She  was  almost  sobbing.  "Well,  I'm  going — if — if 
I  can  find  the  way.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  if  there's  a 
trick  to  it." 

"There's  one  trick  I'll  tell  you,  and  that's  the  way 
to  Red  Point." 

"I  know  that  already." 

270 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Then,  if  you  know  that  already,  you've  got  my 
four  bits,  which  is  more  than  enough  to  take  you  there 
decent."  He  Hfted  his  hand,  with  a  warning  fore- 
finger. "Remember  now,  little  sister,  as  long  as  you 
spend  that  half  dollar  it'll  bind  you  to  keep  good." 

He  tramped  off  into  the  darkness,  leaving  Letty 
perplexed  at  the  ways  of  wickedness,  as  she  began 
once  more  to  drift  southward. 

But  she  drifted  southward  with  a  new  sense  of  mis- 
giving. Danger  was  mysteriously  coy,  and  she  didn't 
know  how  to  court  it.  True,  there  was  still  time 
enough,  but  the  debut  was  not  encouraging.  When 
she  had  gone  forth  from  Judson  Flack's  she  had  felt 
sure  that  adventure  lay  in  wait  for  her,  and  Rashleigh 
Allerton  had  responded  almost  instantaneously.  Now 
she  had  no  such  confidence.  On  the  contrary ;  all  her 
premonitions  worked  the  other  way.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  old  gray  rag.  Perhaps  it  was  her  lack  of  feminine 
appeal.  Men  had  never  flocked  about  her  as  they 
flocked  about  some  girls,  like  bees  about  flowers.  If 
she  was  a  flower,  she  was  a  dust  flower,  a  humble 
thing,  at  home  in  the  humblest  places,  and  never  re- 
garded as  other  than  a  weed. 

She  wandered  into  Fourth  Avenue,  reaching  Astor 
Place.  From  Astor  Place  she  descended  the  city  by 
the  long  artery  of  Lafayette  Street,  in  which  teams 
rumbled  heavily,  and  all-night  workers  shouted  rau- 
cously to  each  other  in  foreign  lauguages.  One  of  a 
band  of  Italians  digging  in  the  roadway,  with  colored 
lanterns  about  them,  called  out  something  at  her,  the 
nature  of  which  she  could  only  infer  from  the  laughter 
of  his  compatriots.    Here  too  she  began  to  notice  other 

271 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

women  like  herself,  shabby,  furtive,  unescorted,  with 
terrible  eyes,  aimlessly  drifting  from  nowhere  to 
nowhere.  There  were  not  many  of  them ;  only  one  at 
long  intervals;  but  they  frightened  her  more  than 
the  men. 

They  frightened  her  because  she  saw  what  she  must 
look  like  herself,  a  thing  too  degraded  for  any  man 
to  want.  She  was  not  that  yet,  perhaps;  but  it  was 
what  she  might  become.  They  were  not  wholly  new  to 
her,  these  women ;  and  they  all  had  begun  at  some  such 
point  as  that  from  which  she  was  starting  out.  Very 
well!  She  was  ready  to  go  this  road,  if  only  by  this 
road  her  prince  could  be  freed  from  her.  Since  she 
couldn't  give  up  everything  for  him  in  one  way,  she 
would  do  it  in  another.  The  way  itself  was  more  or 
less  a  matter  of  indifference — not  entirely,  perhaps,  but 
more  or  less.  If  she  could  set  him  free  in  any  way 
she  would  be  content. 

The  rumble  and  stir  of  Lafayette  Street  alarmed 
her  because  it  was  so  foreign.  The  upper  part  of  the 
town  had  been  empty  and  eerie.  This  quarter  was 
eerie,  alien,  and  occupied.  It  was  difficult  for  her 
to  tell  what  so  many  people  were  doing  abroad  be- 
cause their  aims  seemed  different  from  those  of  day- 
light. What  she  couldn't  understand  struck  her  as 
nefarious;  and  what  struck  her  as  nefarious  filled  her 
with  the  kind  of  terror  that  comes  in  dreams. 

By  these  Italians,  Slavs,  and  Semites  she  was  more 
closely  scrutinized  than  she  had  been  elsewhere.  She 
was  scrutinized,  too,  with  a  hint  of  hostility  in  the 
scrutiny.  In  their  jabber  of  tongues  they  said  things 
about  her  as  she  passed.    Wild-eyed  women,  working 

272 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

by  the  flare  of  torches  with  their  men,  resented  her 
presence  in  the  street.  They  insulted  her  in  terms 
she  couldn't  understand,  while  the  men  laughed  in 
i  T-ightful,  significant  jocosity.  The  unescorted  women 
lone  looked  at  her  with  a  hint  of  friendliness.  One 
of  them,  painted,  haggard,  desperate,  awful,  stopped  as 
if  to  speak  to  her;  but  Letty  sped  away  like  a  snow- 
bird from  a  shrike. 

At  a  corner  where  the  cross-street  was  empty  she 
turned  out  of  this  haunted  highway,  presently  finding 
herself  lost  in  a  congeries  of  old-time  streets  of  which 
she  had  never  heard.  Her  only  knowledge  of  New 
York  was  of  streets  crossing  each  other  at  right 
angles,  numbered,  prosaic,  leaving  no  more  play  to 
the  fancy  than  a  sum  in  arithmetic.  Here  the  ways 
were  narrow,  the  buildings  tall,  the  night  effects  fan- 
tastic. In  the  lamp  light  she  could  read  signs  bearing 
names  as  unpronounceable  as  the  gibbering  monkey- 
speech  in  Lafayette  Street.  Warehouses,  offices,  big 
wholesale  premises,  lairs  of  highly  specialized  busi- 
nesses which  only  the  few  knew  anything  about, 
offered  no  place  for  human  beings  to  sleep,  and  little 
invitation  to  the  prowler.  Now  and  then  a  marauding 
cat  darted  from  shadow  to  shadow,  but  otherwise  she 
was  as  nearly  alone  as  she  could  imagine  herself  being 
in  the  heart  of  a  great  city. 

Still  she  went  on  and  on.  In  the  effort  to  escape 
this  overpowering  solitude  she  turned  one  corner  and 
then  another,  now  coming  out  beneath  the  elevated 
trains,  now  on  the  outskirts  of  docks  where  she  was 
afraid  of  sailors.  She  was  afraid  of  being  alone,  and 
afraid  of  the  thoroughfares  where  there  were  people. 

273 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

On  the  whole  she  was  more  afraid  of  the  thorough- 
fares where  there  were  people,  though  her  fear  soon 
entered  the  unreasoning  phase,  in  which  it  is  fear  and 
nothing  else.  Still  headed  vaguely  southward  she  zig- 
zagged from  street  to  street,  helpless,  terrified,  long- 
ing for  day. 

She  was  in  a  narrow  street  of  which  the  high 
weird  gables  on  either  side  recalled  her  impressions 
on  opening  a  copy  of  Faust,  illustrated  by  Gustave 
Dore,  which  she  found  on  the  library  table  in  East 
Sixty-seventh  Street.  On  her  right  the  elevated  and 
the  docks  were  not  far  away,  on  the  left  she  could 
catch,  through  an  occasional  side  street  the  distant 
gleam  of  Broadway.  Being  afraid  of  both  she  kept 
to  the  deep  canyon  of  unreality  and  solitude,  though  she 
was  afraid  of  that.  At  least  she  was  alone ;  and  yet  to 
be  alone  chilled  her  marrow  and  curdled  her  blood. 

Suddenly  she  heard  the  clank  of  footsteps.  She 
stopped  to  listen,  making  them  out  as  being  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  and  advancing.  Before  she 
had  dared  to  move  on  again  a  man  emerged  from  the 
half  light  and  came  abreast  of  her.  As  he  stopped 
to  look  across  at  her,  Letty  hurried  on. 

The  man  also  went  on,  but  on  glancing  over  her 
shoulder  to  make  sure  that  she  was  safe  she  saw  him 
pause,  cross  to  her  side  of  the  street,  and  begin  to 
follow  her.  That  he  followed  her  was  plain  from  his 
whole  plan  of  action.  The  ring  of  his  footsteps  told 
her  that  he  was  walking  faster  than  she,  though  in 
no  precise  hurry  to  overtake  her.  Rather,  he  seemed 
to  be  keeping  her  in  sight,  and  watching  for  some 
opportunity. 

274 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

It  was  exactly  what  men  did  when  they  robbed  and 
murdered  unprotected  women.  She  had  read  of  scores 
of  such  cases,  and  had  often  imagined  herself  as 
being  stalked  by  this  kind  of  ghoul.  Now  the  thing 
which  she  had  greatly  feared  having  come  upon  her 
she  was  nearly  hysterical.  If  she  ran  he  would  run 
after  her.  If  she  only  walked  on  he  would  overtake 
her.  Before  she  could  reach  the  docks  on  one  side  or 
Broadway  on  the  other,  where  she  might  find  possible 
defenders,  he  could  easily  have  strangled  her  and 
rifled  her  fifty  cents. 

It  was  still  unreasoning  fear,  but  fear  in  which 
there  was  another  kind  of  prompting,  which  made  her 
wheel  suddenly  and  walk  back  towards  him.  She 
noticed  that  as  she  did  so,  he  stopped,  wavered,  but 
came  on  again. 

Before  the  obscurity  allowed  of  her  seeing  what 
type  of  man  he  was  she  cried  out,  with  a  half 
sob: 

"Oh,  mister,  I'm  so  afraid !    I  wish  you'd  help  me." 

"Sure!"  The  tone  had  the  cheery  fraternal  ring 
of  commonplace  sincerity.  "That's  what  I  turned 
round  for.  I  says,  that  girl's  lost,  I  says.  There's 
places  down  here  that's  dangerous,  and  she  don't  know 
where  she  is." 

Hysterical  fear  became  hysterical  relief.  "And 
you're  not  going  to  murder  me  ?" 

"Gee!  Me?  What'd  I  murder  you  for?  I'm  a 
plumber." 

His  tone  making  it  seem  impossible  for  a  plumber 
to  murder  anyone  she  panted  now  from  a  sense  of 
reassurance  and  security.     She  could  see  too  that  he 

275 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

was  a  decent  looking  young  fellow  in  overalls,  off  on 
an  early  job. 

"Where  you  goin'  anyhow?"  he  asked,  in  kindly 
interest.  "The  minute  I  see  you  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  I  says  Gosh,  I  says !  That  girl's  got  to  be 
watched,  I  says.  She  don't  know  that  these  streets 
down  by  the  docks  is  dangerous." 

She  explained  that  she  was  on  her  way  to  Red 
Point,  Long  Island,  and  that  having  only  fifty  cents 
she  was  sparing  of  her  money. 

"Gee !  I  wouldn't  be  so  economical  if  it  was  me. 
That  ain't  the  only  fifty  cents  in  the  world.  Look-a- 
here !    I've  got  a  dollar.    You  must  take  that " 

"Oh,  I  couldn't." 

"Shucks !  What's  a  dollar  ?  You  can  pay  me  back 
some  time.  I'll  give  you  my  address.  It's  all  right. 
I'm  married.  Three  kids.  And  say,  if  you  send  me 
back  the  dollar,  which  you  needn't  do,  you  know — ^but 
if  you  must — sign  a  man's  name  to  the  letter,  because 
my  wife — well,  she's  all  right,  but  if " 

Letty  escaped  the  necessity  of  accepting  the  dollar 
by  assuring  him  that  if  he  would  tell  her  the  way  to 
the  nearest  subway  station  she  would  use  a  portion 
of  her  fifty  cents. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  he  declared,  with  breezy  fra- 
ternity. "No  distance.  They're  expecting  me  on  a 
job  up  there  in  Waddle  Street,  but  they'll  wait.  Pipe 
burst — floodin'  a  loft  where  they've  stored  a  lot  of 
jute — ^but  why  worry  ?" 

As  they  threaded  the  broken  series  of  streets  toward 
the  subway  he  aired  the  matrimonial  question. 

"Some  think  as  two  can  live  on  the  same  wages  as 
276 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

one.  All  bunk,  I'll  say.  My  wife  used  to  be  in  the 
hair  line.  Some  little  earner  too.  Had  an  electric 
machine  that'd  make  hair  grow  like  hay  on  a  marsh. 
Two  dollars  a  visit  she  got.  When  we  was  married 
she  had  nine  hunderd  saved.  I  had  over  five  hunderd 
myself.  We  took  a  weddin'  tour;  Atlantic  City. 
Gettin'  married's  a  cinch;  but  stayin'  married — she's 
all  right,  my  wife  is,  only  she's  kind  o'  nervous  like 
if  I  look  sideways  at  any  other  woman — which  I 
hardly  ever  do  intentional — only  my  wife's  got  it  into 
her  head  that.  .  .  ." 

At  the  entrance  to  the  subway  Letty  shook  hands 
with  him  and  thanked  him. 

"Say,"  he  responded,  "I  wish  I  could  do  something 
more  for  you;  but  I  got  to  hike  it  back  to  Waddle 
Street.  Look-a-here !  You  stick  to  the  subway  and 
the  stations,  and  don't  you  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  your 
address  in  Red  Point  till  after  daylight.  They  can't 
be  killin'  nobody  over  there,  that  you'd  need  to  be  in 
such  a  rush,  and  in  the  stations  you'd  be  safe." 

To  a  degree  that  was  disconcerting  Letty  found 
this  so.  Having  descended  the  stairs,  purchased  a 
ticket,  and  cast  it  into  the  receptacle  appointed  for  that 
purpose,  she  saw  herself  examined  by  the  colored  man 
guarding  the  entry  to  the  platform.  He  sat  with  his 
chair  tilted  back,  his  feet  resting  on  the  chain  which 
protected  part  of  the  entrance,  picking  a  set  of  bril- 
liant teeth.  Letty,  trembling,  nervous,  and  only  partly 
comforted  by  the  cavalier  who  was  now  on  his  way 
to  Waddle  Street,  shrank  from  the  colored  man's  gaze 
and  was  going  down  the  platform  where  she  could  be 
away  from  it.    Her  progress  was  arrested  by  the  sight 

277 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

of  two  men,  also  waiting  for  the  train,  who  on  per- 
ceiving her  started  in  her  direction. 

The  colored  man  lifted  his  feet  lazily  from  the  chain , 
brought  his  chair  down  to  four  legs,  put  his  toothpick 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  dragged  himself  up. 

"Say,  lady,"  he  drawled,  on  approaching  her,  "I 
think  them  two  fellas  is  tough.  You  stay  here  by  me. 
I'll  not  let  no  one  get  fresh  with  you." 

Languidly  he  went  back  to  his  former  position  and 
occupation,  but  when  after  long  waiting,  the  train 
drew  in  he  unhooked  his  feet  again  from  the  chain, 
rose  lazily,  and  accompanied  Letty  across  the  other- 
wise empty  platform. 

"Say,  brother,"  he  said  to  the  conductor,  "don't  let 
any  fresh  guy  get  busy  with  this  lady.  She's  alone, 
and  timid  like." 

"Sure  thing,"  the  conductor  replied,  closing  the 
doors  as  Letty  stepped  within.  "Sit  in  this  comer, 
lady,  next  to  me.  The  first  mutt  that  wags  his  jaw  at 
you'll  get  it  on  the  bean." 

Letty  dropped  as  she  was  bidden  into  the  comer, 
dazed  by  the  brilliant  lighting,  and  the  greasy  unoc- 
cupied seats.  She  was  alone  in  the  car,  and  the  kindly 
conductor  having  closed  his  door  she  felt  a  certain 
sense  of  privacy.  The  train  clattered  off  into  the 
darkness. 

Where  was  she  going  ?  Why  was  she  there  ?  How 
was  she  ever  to  accomplish  the  purpose  with  which 
two  hours  earlier  she  had  stolen  away  from  Elast 
Sixty-seventh  Street  ?  Was  it  only  two  hours  earlier  ? 
It  seemed  like  two  years.  It  seemed  like  a  space  of 
time  not  to  be  reckoned.  .  .  . 

278 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

She  was  tired  as  she  had  never  been  tired  in  her 
hfe.  Her  head  sank  back  into  the  support  made  by 
the  corner. 

"There's  quite  a  trick  to  it,"  she  found  herself  re- 
peating, though  in  what  connection  she  scarcely  knew. 
"An  awful  wicked  lydy,  she  is,  what'd  put  madam  up 
to  all  the  ropes."  These  words  too  drifted  through 
her  mind,  foohshly,  drowsily,  without  obvious  con- 
nection. She  began  to  wish  that  she  was  home  again 
in  the  little  back  spare  room — or  anywhere — so  long 
as  she  could  lie  down — and  shut  her  eyes — and  go  to 
sleep.  ,  ,  , 


Chapter  XXII 

IT  was  Steptoe  who  discovered  that  the  little  back 
spare  room  was  empty,  though  William  had  in- 
formed him  that  he  thought  it  strange  that  madam 
didn't  appear  for  breakfast.  Steptoe  knew  then 
that  what  he  had  expected  had  come  to  pass,  and  if 
earlier  than  he  had  looked  for  it,  perhaps  it  was  just 
as  well.  Having  tapped  at  madam's  door  and  re- 
ceived no  answer  he  ventured  within.  Everything 
there  confirming  his  belief,  he  went  to  inform 
Mr.  Rash. 

As  Mr.  Rash  was  shaving  in  the  bathroom  Steptoe 
plodded  round  the  bedroom,  picking  up  scattered 
articles  of  clothing,  putting  outside  the  door  the  shoes 
which  had  been  taken  off  on  the  previous  night,  dig- 
ging another  pair  of  shoes  from  the  shoe-cupboard, 
and  otherwise  busying  himself  as  usual.  Even  when 
Mr.  Rash  had  re-entered  the  bedroom  the  valet  made  no 
immediate  reference  to  what  had  happened  in  the 
house.  He  approached  the  subject  indirectly  by  say- 
ing, as  he  laid  out  an  old  velvet  house- jacket  on  the 
bed: 

"I  suppose  if  Mr.  Rash  ain't  goin'  out  for  'is  break- 
fast 'e'll  put  this  on  for  'ome." 

Mr.  Rash,  who  was  buttoning  his  collar  before  the 
mirror  said  over  his  shoulder :  "But  I  am  going  out 
for  my  breakfast.    Why  shouldn't  I?    I  always  do." 

Steptoe  carried  the  house- jacket  back  to  the  closet. 
280 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"I  thought  as  Mr.  Rash  only  did  that  so  as  madam 
could  'ave  the  dinin'  room  to  'erself,  private  like." 

As  a  way  of  expressing  the  fact  that  Allerton  had 
never  eaten  a  meal  with  Letty  the  choice  of  words 
was  neat. 

"Well?    What  then?" 

"Oh,  nothink,  sir.  I  was  only  thinkin'  that,  as 
madam  was  no  longer  'ere " 

Allerton  wheeled  round,  his  fingers  clawing  at  the 
collar-stud,  his  face  growing  bloodless.  "No  longer 
here  ?    What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  didn't  Mr.  Rash  know?  Madam  seems  to  'ave 
left  us.  I  supposed  that  after  I'd  gone  upstairs  last 
night  Mr.  Rash  and  'er  must  'ave  'ad  some  sort  of 
hunderstandin' — and  she  went." 

"Went?"  Allerton's  tone  was  almost  a  scream. 
Leaping  on  the  old  man  he  took  him  by  the  shoulders, 
shaking  him.  "Damn  you!  Get  it  out!  What  are 
you  trying  to  tell  me  ?" 

Steptoe  quaked  and  cowered.  "Why,  nothink,  sir. 
Only  when  William  said  as  madam  didn't  come  down 
to  'er  breakfast  I  went  to  'er  door  and  tapped — and 
there  wasn't  no  one  in  the  room.  Mr.  Rash  'ad  better 
go  and  see  for  'imself." 

The  young  man  not  only  released  the  older  one, 
but  pushed  him  aside  with  a  force  which  sent  him 
staggering  backwards.  Over  the  stairs  he  scrambled, 
he  plunged.  Though  he  had  never  entered  the  back 
spare  room  since  allotting  it  to  Letty  as  her  own  he 
threw  the  door  open  now  as  if  the  place  was  on  fire. 

But  by  the  time  Steptoe  had  followed  and  reached 
the  threshold  Allerton  had  calmed  suddenly.    He  stood 

281 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

in  front  of  the  open  closet  vaguely  examining  its  con- 
tents. He  picked  up  the  little  gold  band,  chucked  it 
a  few  inches  into  the  air,  caught  it,  and  put  it  down. 
He  looked  into  the  little  leather  purse,  poured  out  its 
notes  and  pennies  into  his  hand,  replaced  them,  and 
put  that  also  down  again.  He  opened  the  old  red 
volume  lying  on  the  table  by  the  bed,  finding  The 
Little  Mermaid  marked  by  two  stiff  dried  sprays  of 
dust  flower,  which  more  than  ever  merited  its  name. 
When  he  turned  round  to  where  Steptoe,  white  and 
scared  by  this  time,  was  standing  in  the  open  doorway, 
his,  Allerton's,  face  was  drawn,  in  mingled  convulsion 
and  bewilderment.  With  two  strides  he  was  across 
the  room. 

"Tell  me  what  you  know  about  this,  you  confounded 
old  schemer,  before  I  kick  you  out." 

Shivering  and  shaking,  Steptoe  nevertheless  held 
himself  with  dignity.  "I'll  tell  you  what  I  know,  Mr. 
Rash,  though  it  ain't  very  much.  I  know  that  madam 
'as  *ad  it  in  *er  mind  for  some  time  past  that  unless 
she  took  steps  Mr.  Rash'd  never  be  free  to  marry 
the  young  lydy  what  'e  was  in  love  with." 

"What  did  she  mean  by  taking  steps?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly,  but  I  think  it  was  the  kind  o' 
steps  as'd  give  Mr.  Rash  'is  release  quicker  nor  any 
other." 

Allerton's  arm  was  raised  as  if  to  strike  a  blow. 
"And  you  let  her?" 

The  old  face  was  set  steadily.  "I  didn't  do  nothin' 
but  what  Mr.  Rash  'imself  told  me  to  do." 

"Told  you  to  do?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Rash ;  six  months  ago ;  the  momin'  after 
282 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

you'd  brought  madam  into  the  'ouse.  I  was  to  get 
you  out  of  the  marriage,  you  said ;  but  I  think  madam 
'as  done  it  all  of  'er  own  haccord." 

"But  why?    Why  should  she?" 

Steptoe  smiled,  dimly.  "Oh,  don't  Mr.  Rash  see? 
Madam  'ad  give  'erself  to  'im  'eart  and  spirit  and  soul. 
If  she  couldn't  go  to  the  good  for  'im,  she'd  go  to  the 
bad.  So  long  as  she  served  'im,  it  didn't  matter  to 
madam  what  she  done.    And  if  I  was  Mr.  Rash " 

Allerton's  spring  was  like  that  of  a  tiger.  Before 
Steptoe  felt  that  he  had  been  seized  he  was  on  his 
back  on  the  floor,  with  Allerton  kneeling  on  his  chest. 

"You  old  reptile !    I'm  going  to  kill  you." 

"You  may  kill  me,  Mr.  Rash,  but  it  won't  make  no 
difference  to  madam  'avin'  loved  you " 

Two  strong  hands  at  his  throat  choked  back  more 
words,  till  the  sound  of  his  strangling  startled  Aller- 
ton into  a  measure  of  self-control.  He  scrambled  to 
his  feet  again. 

"Get  up." 

Steptoe  dragged  himself  up,  and  after  dusting  him- 
self with  his  fingers  stood  once  more  passive  and 
respectful,  as  if  nothing  violent  had  occurred. 

"If  I  was  Mr.  Rash,"  he  went  on,  imperturbably, 
"I'd  let  well  enough  alone." 

It  was  Allerton  who  was  breathless.  "Wha — ^what 
do  you  mean  by  well  enough  alone  ?" 

"Well  the  wye  I  see  it,  it's  this  wye.  Mr.  Rash  is 
married  to  one  young  lydy  and  wants  to  marry  an- 
other." He  broke  off  to  ask,  significantly :  "I  suppose 
that'd  be  so,  Mr.  Rash?" 

"Well,  what  then?" 

19  283 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"Why,  then,  *e  can^t  marry  the  other  young  lydy 
till  the  young  lydy  what  'e's  married  to  sets  'im  free. 
Now  that  young  lydy  what  'e's  married  to  'as  started 
out  to  set  'im  free,  and  if  I  was  Mr,  Rash  I'd  let  'er." 

"You'd  let  her  throw  herself  away  for  me?" 

"I'd  let  'er  do  anythink  what'd  show  I  knowed  my 
own  mind,  Mr.  Rash.  If  it  wouldn't  be  steppin'  out 
of  my  place  to  sye  so,  I  wish  Mr.  Rash  could  tell 
which  of  these  two  young  lydies  'e  wanted,  and  which 
'e'd  be  willin'  for  to " 

"How  can  I  tell  that  when — ^when  both  have  a  claim 
on  me  ?" 

"Yes,  but  only  one  *as  a  clyme  on  Mr,  Rash  now. 
Madam  'as  given  up  'er  clyme,  so  as  to  myke  things 
easier  for  'tm.  There's  only  one  clyme  now  for  Mr. 
Rash  to  think  about,  and  that  mykes  everythink 
simple," 

An  embarrassed  cough  drew  Steptoe's  attention  to 
the  fact  that  someone  was  standing  in  the  hall  outside. 
It  was  William  with  a  note  on  a  silver  tray.  Beside 
the  note  stood  a  small  square  package,  tied  with  a 
white  ribbon,  which  looked  as  if  it  contained  a  piece 
of  wedding  cake.  His  whisper  of  explanation  was  the 
word,  "Wildgoose,"  but  a  cocking  of  his  eye  gave 
Steptoe  to  understand  that  William  was  quite  aware 
of  wading  in  the  current  of  his  employer's  love-affairs. 
Moreover,  the  fact  that  Steptoe  and  his  master  should 
be  making  so  free  with  the  little  back  spare  room  was 
in  William's  judgment  evidence  of  drama. 

"What's  this?" 

Glancing  at  the  hand-writing  on  the  envelope,  and 
taking  in  the  fact  that  a  small  square  package,  looking 

284 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

like  a  bit  of  wedding  cake  stood  beside  it,  Allerton 
jumped  back.  Steptoe  might  have  been  presenting 
him  with  a  snake. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Rash.  William  *as  just  brought 
it  up.    Someone  seems  to  'ave  left  it  at  the  door." 

As  Steptoe  continued  to  stand  with  his  offering 
held  out  Allerton  had  no  choice  but  to  take  up  the 
letter  and  break  the  seal.  He  read  it  with  little  grunts 
intended  to  signify  ironic  laughter,  but  which  betrayed 
no  more  than  bitterness  of  soul. 

"Dear  Rash  : 

I  have  come  to  see  that  we  shall  never  get  out  of 
the  impasse  in  which  we  seem  to  have  been  caught 
unless  someone  takes  a  stand.  I  have  therefore  de- 
cided to  take  one.  Of  the  three  of  us  it  is  apparently 
easiest  for  me,  so  that  I  am  definitely  breaking  our 
engagement  and  sending  you  back  your  ring.  Any 
claim  I  may  have  had  on  you  I  give  up  of  my  own 
accord,  so  that  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  you  are  free. 
This  will  simplify  your  situation,  and  enable  you  to 
act  according  to  the  dictates  of  your  heart.  Believe 
me,  dear  Rash,  affectionately  yours 

Barbara  Walbrook.'' 

Though  it  was  not  his  practice  to  take  his  valet  into 
the  secret  of  his  correspondence  the  circumstances 
were  exceptional.  Allerton  handed  the  letter  to  Step- 
toe without  a  word.  As  the  old  man  was  feeling  for 
his  glasses  and  adjusting  them  to  his  nose  Mr.  Rash 
turned  absently  away,  picking  up  the  volume  of  Hans 

285 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Andersen,  from  which  the  sprays  of  dust  flower 
tumbled  out.  On  putting  them  back  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  words,  which  someone  had  marked  with  a  pencil : 

"Day  by  day  she  grew  dearer  to  the  prince ;  but  he 
loved  her  as  one  loves  a  child.  The  thought  of  mak- 
ing her  his  queen  never  crossed  his  mind." 

A  spasm  passed  over  his  face.  He  turned  the  page 
impatiently.  Here  he  caught  the  words  which  had 
been  underlined: 

"I  am  with  him  every  day.  I  will  watch  over  him 
— ^love  him — ^and  sacrifice  my  life  for  him." 

Shutting  the  book  with  a  bang,  and  throwing  it  on 
the  table,  he  wheeled  round  to  where  Steptoe,  having 
folded  the  letter,  was  taking  oflF  his  spectacles. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"What  I'd  sye  to  that,  Mr.  Rash,  is  that  it's  as  good 
as  a  legal  document.  If  any  young  lydy  what  wrote 
that  letter  was  to  bring  a  haction  for  breach,  this  'ere 
pyper'd  nyle  'er." 

"So  where  am  I  now  ?" 

"Free  as  a  lark,  Mr.  Rash.  One  young  lydy  *as 
^med  you  down,  and  the  other  'as  gone  to  the  bad 
for  you;  so  if  you  was  to  begin  agyne  with  a  third 
you'd  'ave  a  clean  sheet." 

He  groaned  aloud.    "Ah,  go  to " 

But  without  stating  the  place  to  which  Steptoe  was 
to  go  he  marched  out  of  the  room,  and  back  to  his 
dressing  upstairs. 

More  dispassionate  was  the  early  morning  scene  in 
the  little  basement  eating  house  in  which  the  stunted 
Hebrew  maid  of  Polish  culture  was  serving  breakfast 

286 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

to  two  gentlemen  who  had  plainly  met  by  appointment. 
Beside  the  one  was  an  oblong  packet,  of  which  some 
of  the  contents,  half  displayed,  had  the  opulent  en- 
graved decorations  of  stock  certificates. 

The  other  gentleman,  resembling  an  operatic  brig- 
and a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  was  saying  with  con- 
viction :  "Oil !  Don't  talk  to  me !  No,  sir !  There's 
enough  oil  in  Milligan  Center  alone  to  run  every  car 
in  Europe  and  America  at  this  present  time ;  while  if 
you  include  North  Milligan,  where  it's  beginnin'  to 
shoot  like  the  Old  Faithful  geyser " 

"Awful  obliged  to  you,  Judson,"  the  other  took  up, 
humbly.    "I  thought  that  bunch  o'  nuts  'd  never " 

"So  did  I,  Gorry.  I've  sweated  blood  over  this  job 
all  winter.  Queer  the  way  men  are  made.  Now  you'd 
hardly  believe  the  work  I've  had  to  show  that  lot  of 
boneheads  that  because  a  guy's  a  detective  in  one 
line,  he  ain't  a  detective  in  every  line.  Homicide,  I 
said,  was  Gorry  Larrabin's  specialty,  and  where  there's 
no  homicide  he's  no  more  a  detective  than  a  busted 
rubber  tire." 

"You've  said  it,"  Gorry  corroborated,  earnestly. 
"One  of  the  cussed  things  about  detectin'  is  that  fellas 
gets  afraid  of  you.  Think  because  you're  keepin'  up 
your  end  you  must  be  down  on  every  little  thing,  and 
that  you  ain't  a  sport." 

"Must  be  hard,"  Judson  said,  sympathetically. 

"I'll  tell  you  it's  hard.  Lots  of  fun  I'd  like  to  be 
let  in  on — but  you're  kept  outside." 

The  drawbacks  of  the  detective  profession  not  being 
what  Judson  chiefly  had  on  his  mind  he  allowed  the 
subject  to  drop.    An  interval  of  silence  for  the  con- 

287 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

sumption  of  a  plateful  of  golden  toasties  permitted 
Gorry  to  begin  again  reminiscently. 

"By  the  way,  Judson,  do  you  remember  that  about 
six  months  ago  you  was  chewin'  over  that  girl  of 
yours,  and  what  had  become  of  her?" 

To  himself  Judson  said:  "That's  the  talk;  now 
we're  comin'  to  business."  Aloud  he  made  it :  "Why, 
yes.  Seems  to  me  I  do.  She's  been  gone  so  long 
I'd  almost  forgot  her." 

"Well,  what  d'ye  know?  Last  night — lemme  see, 
was  it  last  night? — no,  night  before  last — I  kind  o* 
got  wind  of  her." 

"Heaven^s  sake !" 

"Guy  I  know  was  comin'  through  East  Sixty- 
seventh  Street,  and  there  was  my  lady,  dressed  to  beat 
the  band,  leadin'  one  of  them  little  toy  dogs,  and 
talkin'  to  a  swell  toflF  that  lives  in  one  of  them  houses. 
Got  the  number  here  in  my  pocket-book." 

While  he  was  searching  his  pocket-book  Judson 
asked,  breathlessly:   "Couldn't  be  no  mistake?" 

"It's  nix  on  mistakes.  That  guy  don't  make  *em. 
Surest  thing  on  the  force.  He  said,  'Good  afternoon, 
Miss  Gravely';  and  she  said,  'Good  afternoon'  back 
to  him — just  like  that.  The  guy  walked  on  and  turned 
a  corner;  but  when  he  peeped  back,  there  was  the 
couple  goin'  into  the  house  just  like  husband  and 
wife.    What  d'ye  know?" 

**What  do  I  know  ?  I  know  I'll  spill  his  claret  for 
him  before  the  week  is  out." 

"Ah,  here  it  is !  Knew  I  had  that  address  on  me 
somewheres."  He  handed  the  scrap  of  paper  across 
the  table.    "That's  his  name  and  number.    Seems  to 

288 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

me  you  may  have  a  gocxi  thing  there,  Judson,  if  you 
know  how  to  work  it." 

In  another  early  morning  scene  the  ermine  was 
cleaning  her  nest;  and  you  know  how  fastidious  she 
is  supposed  to  be  as  to  personal  spotlessness.  The 
ermine  in  question  did  not  belie  her  reputation,  as 
you  would  have  seen  by  a  glance  at  the  three  or  four 
rooms  which  made  up  what  she  called  her  "flat." 

Nothing  was  ever  whiter  than  the  wood-work  of 
the  "flat"  and  its  furnishings.  Nothing  was  ever 
whiter  than  the  little  lady's  dress.  The  hair  was  white, 
and  even  the  complexion,  the  one  like  silver,  the  other 
like  the  camelia.  Having  breakfasted  from  white 
dishes  placed  on  a  white  napkin,  she  was  busy  with  a 
carpet-sweeper  sweeping  up  possible  crumbs.  In  an 
interval  of  the  carpet-sweeper's  buzz  she  heard  the 
telephone. 

"Hello!"    The  male  voice  was  commanding. 

"Yes?"    The  response  was  sweetly  precise. 

"Is  this  Red  Point  3284-W  ?" 

"It  is." 

"Can  I  speak  to  Miss  Henrietta  Towell?" 

"This  is  Miss  Henrietta  Towell." 

"This  is  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  Emergency  Hospital. 
Do  you  know  a  girl  named  Letitia  Rashleigh?" 

There  was  a  second's  hesitation.  "I  was  once  a 
lady's  maid  to  a  lady  whose  maiden  name  was  Rash- 
leigh.   I  think  there  may  be  a  connection  somewhere." 

"She  was  found  unconscious  on  a  car  in  the  sub- 
way last  night  and  brought  in  here." 

"And  has  she  mentioned  me  ?" 
289 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"She  hasn't  mentioned  anyone  since  she  came  to; 
but  we  find  your  address  on  a  paper  in  her  pocket." 

"That  seems  singular,  but  I  expect  there's  a  pur- 
pose behind  it.    Is  that  everything  she  had?" 

"No;  she  had  forty-five  cents  and  a  thimble." 

"A  thimble!    Just  an  ordinary  thimble." 

"Yes,  an  ordinary  thimble,  except  that  it  has  initials 
on  the  edge.  *H.T.  from  H.S.'  Does  that  mean  any- 
thing to  you  ?" 

"Yes ;  that  means  something  to  me.  May  I  ask  how 
tc  reach  the  hospital  ?" 

This  being  explained  Miss  Towell  promised  to 
appear  without  delay,  begging  that  in  the  meantime 
ever)rthing  be  done  for  Miss  Rashleigh's  comfort. 

She  was  not  perturbed.  She  was  not  surprised. 
She  did  not  wonder  who  Letitia  Rashleigh  could  be, 
or  why  her  address  should  be  found  in  the  girl's 
pocket.  She  was  as  quiet  and  serene  as  if  such  inci- 
dents belonged  to  every  day's  work. 

Dressed  for  the  street  she  was  all  in  black.  A 
mantua  covered  with  bugles  and  braid  dropped  from 
her  shoulders,  while  a  bonnet  which  rose  to  a  pointed 
arch  above  her  brow,  and  allowed  the  silver  knob  of 
her  hair  to  escape  behind,  gave  her  a  late  nineteenth 
century  dignity.  Before  leaving  the  house  she  took 
two  volumes  from  her  shelves — read  first  in  one,  then 
in  the  other — sat  pensive  for  a  while,  with  head  bent 
and  eyes  shaded — after  which  she  replaced  her  books, 
turned  the  key  in  her  door,  and  set  forth  for  Brodk- 
lyn  Bridge. 


Chapter  XXIII 

WHY  you  should  hold  me  responsible,"  Barbara 
was  saying,  "I  can't  begin  to  imagine.  Surely 
I've  done  everything  I  could  to  simplify  matters,  to 
straighten  them  out,  and  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
rectify  your  folly.  I've  effaced  myself;  I've  broken 
my  heart ;  I've  promised  Aunt  Marion  to  go  in  for  a 
job  for  which  I'm  not  fitted  and  don't  care  a  rap;  and 
yet  you  come  here,  accusing  me " 

"But,  Barbe,  I'm  not  accusing  you!  If  I'm  accus- 
ing anyone  it's  myself.  Only  I  can't  speak  without 
your  taking  me  up " 

"There  you  go !  Oh,  Rash,  dear,  if  you'd  only  been 
able  to  control  yourself  nothing  of  this  would  have 
happened — not  from  the  first." 

She  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  little*  reception 
room,  and  rubbing  her  hands  together,  while  the  twist- 
ing of  the  fish-tail  of  her  hydrangea-colored  robe,  like 
an  eel  in  agony,  emphasized  her  agitation.  Rashleigh 
was  seated,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  head  bowed 
between  his  hands,  of  which  the  fingers  clutched  and 
tore  at  the  masses  of  his  hair.  Only  when  he  spoke 
did  he  lift  his  woe-begone  black  eyes. 

"Well,  I  didn't  control  myself,"  he  admitted,  im- 
patiently; "that's  settled.  Why  go  back  to  it?  The 
question  is " 

"Yes;  why  go  back  to  it?  That's  you  all  over, 
Rash.     You  can  do  what  no  one  else  in  his  senses 

291 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

would  ever  think  of  doing;  and  when  you've  upset 
the  whole  apple  cart  it  must  never  be  referred  to  again. 
I'm  to  accept,  and  keep  silence.  Well,  I've  kept 
silence.  I've  gone  all  winter  like  a  muzzled  dog.  I've 
wheedled  that  girl,  and  kow-towed  to  her,  and  made 
her  think  I  was  fond  of  her — ^which  I  am  in  a  way — 
you  may  not  believe  it,  but  I  am — and  what's  the 
result?  She  gets  sick  of  the  whole  business;  runs 
away ;  and  you  come  here  and  throw  the  whole  blame 
on  me." 

He  tried  to  speak  with  special  calmness.  "Barbe, 
listen  to  me.    What  I  said  was  this " 

She  came  to  a  full  stop  in  front  of  him,  her  arms 
outspread.  "Oh,  Rash,  dear,  I  know  perfectly  well 
what  you  said.  You  don't  have  to  go  all  over  it  again. 
I'm  not  deaf.  If  you  would  only  not  be  so  excit- 
able  " 

He  jumped  to  his  feet.  "I'm  excitable,  I  know, 
Barbe.  I  confess  it.  Everybody  knows  it.  What  I'm 
trying  to  tell  you  is  that  I'm  not  excited  now.'* 

She  laughed,  a  little  mocking  laugh,  and  started  once 
more  to  pace  up  and  down.  "Oh,  very  well !  You're 
not  excited  now.  Then  that's  understood.  You  never 
are  excited.  You're  as  calm  as  a  mountain."  She 
paused  again,  though  at  a  distance.  "Now?  What 
is  it  you're  going  to  do?  That's  what  you've  come  to 
ask  me,  isn't  it?  Are  you  going  to  run  after  her? 
Are  you  going  to  let  her  go?  Are  you  going  to 
divorce  her,  if  she  gives  you  the  opportunity?  If 
you  divorce  her  are  you  going  to ?" 

"But,  Barbe,  I  can't  decide  all  these  questions  now. 
What  I  want  to  do  is  to  -find  her." 

292 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Well,  I  haven't  got  her  here  ?  Why  don't  you  go 
after  her  ?  Why  don't  you  apply  to  the  police  ?  Why 
don't  you ?" 

"Yes,  but  that's  just  what  I  want  to  discuss  with 
you.  I  don't  like  applying  to  the  police.  If  I  do  it'll 
get  into  the  papers,  and  the  whole  thing  become  so 
odious  and  vulgar " 

"And  it's  such  an  exquisite  idyll  now !" 

He  threw  back  his  head.  "She's  an  exquisite 
idyll — in  her  way." 

"There!  That's  what  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say! 
I've  thought  you  were  in  love  with  her " 

He  remembered  the  penciled  lines  in  Hans  Ander- 
sen, "If  I  have  been,  it's  as  you  may  be  in  love  with 
an  Innocent  little  child " 

She  laughed  again,  wildly,  almost  hysterically. 
"Oh,  Rash,  don't  try  to  get  that  sort  of  thing  off  on 
me.  I  know  how  men  love  innocent  little  children. 
You  can  see  the  way  they  do  it  any  night  you  choose 
to  hang  round  the  stage-door  of  a  theatre  where  the 
exquisite  idylls  are  playing  in  musical  comedy." 

"Don't  Barbe !  Not  when  you're  talking  about  her ! 
I  know  she's  an  ignorant  little  thing ;  but  to  me  she's 
like  a  wild-flower " 

"Wild-flowers  can  be  cultivated,  Rash." 

"Yes,  but  the  wild-flower  she's  most  like  is  the  one 
you  see  in  the  late  summer  all  along  the  dusty  high- 
ways   " 

She  put  up  both  palms  in  a  gesture  of  protestation. 
"Oh,  Rash,  please  don't  be  poetical.  It  gets  on  my 
nerves.  I  can't  stand  it.  I  like  you  in  every  mood 
but  your  sentimental  one."    She  came  to  a  halt  beside 

293 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

the  mantelpiece,  on  which  she  rested  an  elbow,  turn- 
ing to  look  at  him.  "Now  tell  me,  Rash!  Suppose 
I  wasn't  in  the  world  at  all.  Or  suppose  you'd  never 
heard  of  me.  And  suppose  you  found  yourself  mar- 
ried to  this  girl,  just  as  you  are — nominally — ^legally 
— ^but  not  really.  Would  you — ^would  you  make  it — 
really?" 

They  exchanged  a  long  silent  look.  His  eyes  had 
not  left  hers  when  he  said :  "I — I  might." 

"Good!  Now  suppose  she  wasn't  in  the  world  at 
all,  or  that  you'd  never  heard  of  her.  And  suppose 
that  you  and  I  were — ^were  on  just  the  same  terms  that 
we  are  to-day.  Would  you — would  you  want  to 
marry  me?    Answer  me  truly." 

"Why,  yes ;  of  course." 

"Now  suppose  that  she  and  I  were  standing  to- 
gether, and  you  were  led  in  to  choose  between  us.  And 
suppose  you  were  absolutely  free  and  untrammelled  in 
your  choice,  with  no  question  as  to  her  feelings  or 
mine  to  trouble  you.  Which  would  you  take?  An- 
swer me  just  as  truly  and  sincerely  as  you  can." 

He  took  time  to  think,  wheeling  away  from  her, 
and  walking  up  and  down  the  little  room  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back.  It  occurred  to  neither  that 
Barbara  having  broken  the  "engagement,"  and  re- 
turned the  ring,  the  choice  before  him  was  purely 
hypothetical.  Their  relations  were  no  more  affected 
by  the  note  she  had  written  him  that  morning  than 
by  the  ceremony  through  which  he  and  Letty  had 
walked  in  the  previous  year. 

To  Barbara  the  suspense  was  almost  unbearable.  In 
a  minute  or  two,  and  with  a  word  or  two,  she  would 

294 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

know  how  life  for  the  future  was  to  be  cast.  She 
would  have  before  her  the  possibiUty  of  some  day  be- 
coming a  happy  wife — or  a  great  career  Hke  her  aunt's. 

Pausing  in  his  walk  he  confronted  her  just  as  he 
stood,  his  hands  still  clasped  behind  his  back.  Her 
own  attitude,  with  elbow  resting  on  the  mantelpiece, 
was  that  of  a  woman  equal  to  anything. 

He  spoke  slowly.  "Just  as  truly  and  sincerely  as 
I  can  answer  you — I  don't  know." 

She  stirred  slightly,  but  otherwise  gave  no  sign  of 
her  impatience.  "And  is  there  anything  that  would 
help  you  to  find  out?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  that  I  can  think  of, 
unless " 

"Yes?    Unless— what?" 

"Unless  it's  something  that  would  unlock  what's 
locked  in  my  subconsciousness." 

"And  what  would  that  be  ?" 

"I  haven't  the  faintest  idea." 

She  moved  from  the  mantelpiece  with  a  gesture  of 
despair.  "Rash,  you're  absolutely  and  hopelessly 
impossible." 

"I  know  that,"  he  admitted,  humbly. 

With  both  fists  clenched  she  stood  in  front  of  him. 
"I  could  kill  you." 

He  hung  his  head.  "Not  half  so  easily  as  I  could 
kill  myself." 

Letty's  judgment  on  Miss  Henrietta  Towell  was 
different  from  yours  and  mine.  She  found  her  just 
what  she  had  expected  to  see  from  the  warnings  long 
ago  issued  by  Mrs.   Judson   Flack  in  putting  her 

295 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

daughter  on  her  guard.  In  going  about  the  city  she, 
Letty,  was  always  to  be  suspicious  of  elderly  ladies, 
respectably  dressed,  enticingly  mannered,  and  with 
what  seemed  like  maternal  intentions.  The  more  any 
one  of  these  traits  was  developed,  the  more  suspicious 
Letty  was  to  be.  With  these  instructions  carefully  at 
heart  she  would  have  been  suspicious  of  Henrietta 
Towell  in  any  case ;  but  with  Steptoe's  description  to 
fall  back  upon  she  couldn't  but  feel  sure. 

By  the  time  Miss  Towell  had  arrived  at  the  hospital 
Letitia  Rashleigh  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  be 
dressed  and  seated  in  the  armchair  placed  beside  the 
bed  in  the  small  white  ward.  On  one  low  bedpost 
the  jacket  had  been  hung,  and  on  the  other  the  bat- 
tered black  hat. 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  her,"  the  nurse 
explained  to  Miss  Towell,  before  entering  the  ward. 
"She  had  fainted  in  the  subway,  but  I  think  it  was  only 
from  fatigue,  and  perhaps  from  lack  of  food.  She's 
quite  well  nourished,  only  she  didn't  seem  to  have 
eaten  any  supper,  and  was  evidently  tired  from  a  long 
and  frightening  walk.  She  gives  us  no  explanation  of 
herself,  and  is  disinclined  to  talk,  and  if  it  hadn't  been 
that  she  had  your  address  in  her  pocket " 

"I  think  I  know  how  she  got  that.  From  her  name 
I  judge  that  she's  a  relative  of  the  family  in  which  I 
used  to  be  employed ;  but  as  they  were  all  very  wealthy 
people " 

"Even  very  wealthy  people  often  have  poor  rela- 
tions." 

"Yes,  of  course ;  but  I  was  with  this  family  for  so 
many  years  that  if  there'd  been  any  such  connection 

296 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

I  think  I  must  have  heard  of  it.  However,  it  makes 
no  difference  to  me,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  of  use 
to  her,  especially  as  she  has  in  her  possession  an 
article — a  thimble  it  is — which  once  belonged  to  me." 

At  the  bedside  the  nurse  made  the  introduction. 
"This  is  the  lady  whose  address  you  had  in  youf 
pocket.  She  very  kindly  said  she'd  come  and  see  what 
she  could  do  for  you." 

Having  placed  a  chair  for  Miss  Towell  the  nurse 
withdrew  to  attend  to  other  patients  in  the  ward,  of 
whom  there  were  three  or  four. 

Letty  regarded  the  newcomer  with  eyes  that  seemed 
lustreless  in  spite  of  their  tiny  gold  flames.  Having  a 
shrewd  idea  of  what  she  would  mean  to  her  visitor 
she  felt  it  unnecessary  to  express  gratitude.  In  a 
certain  sense  she  hated  her  at  sight.  She  hated  her 
bugles  and  braid  and  the  shape  of  her  bonnet,  as  the 
criminal  about  to  be  put  to  death  might  hate  the 
executioner's  mask  and  gaberdine.  The  more  Miss 
Towell  was  sweet-spoken  and  respectable,  the  more 
Letty  shrank  from  these  tokens  of  hypocrisy  in  one 
who  was  wicked  to  the  core.  "She  wouldn't  seem  so 
wicked,  not  at  first,"  Steptoe  had  predicted,  "but 
time'd  tell."  Well,  Letty  didn't  need  time  to  tell,  since 
she  could  see  for  herself  already.  She  could  see  from 
the  first  words  addressed  to  her. 

"You  needn't  tell  me  anything  about  yourself,  dear, 
that  you  don't  want  me  to  know.  H  you're  without  a 
place  to  go  to,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you'll  come  home  with 
me." 

It  was  the  invitation  Letty  had  expected,  and  to 
which  she  meant  to  respond.     Knowing,  however, 

297 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

what  was  behind  it  she  replied  more  ungraciously  than 
she  would  otherwise  have  done.  "Oh,  I  don't  mind 
talking  about  myself.  I'm  a  picture-actress,  only  I've 
been  out  of  a  job.  I  haven't  worked  for  over  six 
months.    I've  been — I've  been  visiting." 

Miss  Towell  lowered  her  eyes,  and  spoke  with  mod- 
esty. "I  suppose  you  were  visiting  people  who  knew 
— ^who  knew  the  person  who — who  gave  you  my  ad- 
dress and  the  thimble  ?" 

This  question  being  more  direct  than  she  cared  for 
Letty  was  careful  to  answer  no  more  than,  "Yes." 

Miss  Towell  continued  to  sit  with  eyes  downcast, 
and  as  if  musing.  Two  or  three  minutes  went  by  be- 
fore she  said,  softly:   "How  is  he?" 

Letty  replied  that  he  was  very  well,  and  in  the  same 
place  where  he  had  been  so  long.  Another  interval 
of  musing  was  followed  by  the  simple  statement : 
**We  differed  about  religion." 

This  remark  had  no  modifying  effect  on  Letty's 
estimate  of  Miss  Towell's  character,  since  religion  was 
little  more  to  her  than  a  word.  Neither  was  she  in- 
terested in  dead  romance  between  Steptoe  and  Miss 
Towell,  all  romance  being  summed  up  in  her  prince. 
That  flame  burned  with  a  pure  and  single  purpose 
to  wed  him  to  the  princess  with  whom  he  was  in  love, 
while  the  little  mermaid  became  first  foam,  and  then 
a  spirit  of  the  air.  It  took  little  from  the  poetry  of 
this  dissolution  that  it  could  be  achieved  only  by  trun- 
dling over  Brooklyn  Bridge,  and  through  a  nexus  of 
dreary  streets.  In  Letty's  outlook  on  her  mission  the 
end  glorified  the  means,  however  shady  or  degraded. 

It  was  precisely  this  spirit — mistaken,  if  you  choose 
298 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

to  call  it  so — which  animated  Judith  of  Bethulia, 
Monna  Vanna,  and  Boule  de  Suif.  Letty  didn't  class 
herself  with  these  heroines ;  she  only  felt  as  they  did, 
that  there  was  something  to  be  done.  On  that  some- 
thing a  man's  happiness  depended;  on  it  another 
woman's  happiness  depended  too ;  on  it  her  own  hap- 
piness depended,  since  if  it  wasn't  done  she  would  feel 
herself  a  clog  to  be  cursed.  To  be  cursed  by  the 
prince  would  mean  anguish  far  more  terrible  than 
any  punishment  society  could  mete  out  to  her. 

"If  you  feel  equal  to  it  we  might  go  now,  dear," 
Miss  Towell  suggested,  on  waking  from  her  dreams 
of  what  might  have  been.  "I  wish  I  could  take  you 
in  a  taxi;  but  I  daresay  you  won't  mind  the  tram." 

Letty  rose  briskly.  "No,  I  shan't  mind  it  at  all." 
She  looked  Miss  Towell  significantly  in  the  eyes,  hop- 
ing that  her  words  would  carry  all  the  meaning  she 
was  putting  into  them.  "I  shan't  mind — anything  you 
want  me  to  do,  no  matter  what." 

Miss  Towell  smiled,  sweetly.  "Thank  you,  dear. 
That'll  be  very  nice.  I  shan't  ask  you  to  do  much, 
because  it's  your  problem,  you  know,  and  you  must 
work  it  out.  I'll  stand  by ;  but  standing  by  is  about  all 
we  can  do  for  each  other,  when  problems  have  to  be 
faced.    Don't  you  think  it  is  ?" 

As  this  language  meant  nothing  to  Letty,  she 
thanked  the  nurse,  smiled  at  the  other  patients,  and, 
trudging  at  Miss  Towell's  side  with  her  quaintly  sturdy 
grace,  went  forth  to  her  great  sacrifice. 

Allerton  had  drawn   from  his  conversation  with 
Barbara  this  one  practical  suggestion.     As  he  had 
20  299 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

months  before  consulted  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Nailes,  as 
to  ways  of  losing  Letty  after  she  had  been  found, 
he  might  consult  him  as  to  ways  of  finding  her  now 
that  she  had  been  lost.  Mr.  Nailes  would  not  go  to 
the  police.  He  would  apply  to  some  discreet  house  of 
detectives  who  would  do  the  work  discreetly. 

"Then,  I  presume,  you've  changed  your  mind  about 
this  marriage,"  was  Mr.  Nailes'  not  unnatural  infer- 
ence, "and  mean  to  go  on  with  it." 

"N-not  exactly."  Allerton  was  still  unable  to  define 
his  intentions.  "I  only  don't  want  her  to  disappear — 
like  this." 

Mr.  Nailes  pondered.  He  was  a  tall,  raw-boned 
man,  of  raw-boned  countenance,  to  whom  the  law 
represented  no  system  of  divine  justice,  but  a  means 
by  which  Eugene  Nailes  could  make  money,  as  his 
father  had  made  it  before  him.  Having  inherited  his 
father's  practice  he  had  inherited  Rashleigh  Allerton, 
the  two  fathers  having  had  a  long-standing  business 
connection,  Mr.  Nailes  had  no  high  opinion  of  Rash- 
leigh Allerton — in  which  he  was  not  peculiar — but  a 
client  with  so  much  money  was  entitled  to  his  way.  At 
the  same  time  he  couldn't  have  been  human  without 
urging  a  point  of  common  sense. 

"If  you  don't  want  to — to  continue  your — your  rela- 
tion with  this — this  lady,  doesn't  it  strike  you  that 
now  might  be  a  happy  opportunity ?" 

Allerton  did  what  he  did  rarely ;  he  struck  the  table 
with  his  fist.    "I  want  to  find  her." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  so  much  force  that 
to  Mr.  Nailes  they  were  conclusive.  It  was  far  from 
his  intention  to  compel  anyone  to  common  sense,  and 

300 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

least  of  all  a  man  whose  folly  might  bring  increased 
fees  to  the  firm  of  Nailes,  Nailes,  and  Nailes. 

It  was  agreed  that  steps  should  be  taken  at  once, 
and  that  Mr,  Nailes  would  report  in  the  evening. 
Gravely  was  the  name  Allerton  was  sure  she  would 
use,  and  the  only  one  that  needed  to  be  mentioned. 
It  needed  only  to  be  mentioned  too  that  Mr.  Nailes 
was  acting  for  a  client  who  preferred  to  remain 
anonymous. 

It  was  further  agreed  that  Mr.  Nailes  should  report 
at  Allerton's  office  at  ten  that  evening,  in  person  if 
there  was  anything  to  discuss,  by  telephone  if  there 
was  nothing.  This  was  convenient  for  Mr.  Nailes, 
who  lived  in  the  neighborhood  of  Washington  Square, 
while  it  protected  Rash  from  household  curiosity.  At 
ten  that  night  he  was,  therefore,  in  the  unusual  posi- 
tion of  pacing  the  rooms  he  had  hardly  ever  seen 
except  by  daylight* 

Not  Letty's  disappearance  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  for  the  moment,  but  his  own  inhibitions. 

"My  God,  what's  the  matter  with  me?"  he  was 
muttering  to  himself.  "Am  I  going  insane?  Have  I 
been  insane  all  along?  Why  can't  I  say  which  of 
these  two  women  I  want,  when  I  can  have  either?" 

He  placed  over  against  each  other  the  special  set 
of  spells  which  each  threw  upon  his  heart. 

Barbara  was  of  his  own  world ;  she  knew  the  people 
he  knew ;  she  had  the  same  interests,  and  the  same  way 
of  showing  them.  Moreover,  she  had  in  a  measure 
grown  into  his  life.  Their  friendship  was  not  only 
intimate  it  was  one  of  long  standing.  Though  she 
worried,  hectored,  and  exasperated  him,  she  had  fits 

301 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

of  generous  repentance,  in  which  she  mothered  him 
adorably.  This  double-harness  of  comradeship  had 
worked  for  so  many  years  that  he  couldn't  imagine 
wearing  it  with  another. 

And  yet  Letty  pulled  so  piteously  at  his  heart  that 
he  fairly  melted  in  tenderness  toward  her.  Everything 
he  knew  as  appeal  was  summed  up  in  her  soft  voice, 
her  gentle  manner,  her  humility,  her  unquestioning 
faith  in  himself.  No  one  had  ever  had  faith  in  him 
before.  To  Barbe  he  was  a  booby  when  he  was  not  a 
baby.  To  Letty  he  was  a  hero,  strong,  wise,  command- 
ing. It  wasn't  merely  his  vanity  that  she  touched; 
it  was  his  manliness.  Barbe  suppressed  his  manliness, 
because  she  herself  was  so  imperious.  Letty  depended 
on  it,  and  therefore  drew  it  out.  Because  she  believed 
him  a  man,  he  could  be  a  man;  whereas  with  Barbe, 
as  with  everyone  else,  he  was  a  creature  to  be  liked, 
humored,  laughed  at,  and  good-naturedly  despised. 
He  was  sick  of  being  liked,  humored,  and  laughed 
at ;  he  rebelled  with  every  atom  in  him  that  was  mas- 
culine at  being  good-naturedly  despised.  To  find  any- 
one who  thought  him  big  and  vigorous  was  to  his 
starved  spirit,  as  the  psalmist  says,  sweeter  also  than 
honey  and  the  honeycomb.  In  having  her  weakness 
to  hold  up  he  could  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  feel 
himself  of  use. 

If  there  was  no  Barbe  in  the  world  he  could  have 
taken  Letty  as  the  mate  his  soul  was  longing  for.  Yet 
how  could  he  deal  such  a  blow  at  Barbe's  lo)^lty  ?  She 
had  protected  him  during  all  his  life,  from  boyhood 
upwards.  Between  him  and  derision  she  had  stood 
like  a  young  lioness.     How  could  he  deny  her  now? 

302 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

— no  matter  what  frail,  gentle  hands  were  clinging 
around  his  heart? 

"How  can  I  ?    How  can  I  ?    How  can  I  ?" 

He  was  torturing  himself  with  this  question  when 
the  telephone  rang,  and  he  knew  that  Letty  had  not 
been  found. 

"No;  nothing,"  were  the  words  of  Mr.  Nailes. 
"No  one  of  the  name  has  been  reported  at  any  of  the 
hospitals,  or  police  stations,  or  any  other  public  insti- 
tution. They've  applied  at  all  the  motion-picture 
studios  round  New  York;  but  still  with  no  result. 
This,  of  course,  is  only  the  preliminary  search,  as 
much  as  they've  been  able  to  accomplish  in  one  after- 
noon and  evening.  You  mustn't  be  disappointed. 
To-morrow  is  likely  to  be  more  successful." 

Rash  was,  therefore,  thrown  back  on  another  phase 
of  his  situation.  Letty  was  lost.  She  was  not  only 
lost,  but  she  had  run  away  from  him.  She  had  not 
only  run  away  from  him,  but  she  had  done  it  so  that 
he  might  be  rid  of  her.  She  had  not  only  done  it  so 
that  he  might  be  rid  of  her,  but.  .  .  . 

His  spirit  balked.  His  imagination  could  work  no 
further.  Horror  staggered  him.  A  mother  who 
knows  that  her  child  is  in  the  hands  of  kidnappers 
who  will  have  no  mercy  might  feel  something  like  the 
despair  and  helplessness  which  sent  him  chafing  and 
champing  up  and  down  the  suite  of  rooms,  cursing 
himself  uselessly. 

Suddenly  he  paused.  He  was  in  front  of  the  cab- 
inet which  had  come  via  Bordentown  from  Queen 
Caroline  Murat.  Behind  its  closed  door  there  was 
still  the  bottle  on  the  label  of  which  a  kilted  High- 

303 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

lander  was  dancing.  He  must  have  a  refuge  from 
his  thoughts,  or  else  he  would  go  mad.  He  was  already 
as  near  madness  as  a  man  could  come  and  still  be 
reckoned  sane. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  cabinet.  The  bottle  and 
the  glass  stood  exactly  where  he  had  placed  them  on 
that  morning  when  he  had  tried  to  begin  going  to 
the  devil,  and  had  failed.  Now  there  was  no  longer 
that  same  mysterious  restraint.  He  was  not  thinking 
of  the  devil;  he  was  thinking  only  of  himself.  He 
must  still  the  working  of  his  mind.  Anything  would 
do  that  would  drug  his  faculties,  and  so.  .  .  . 

It  was  after  midnight  when  he  dragged  himself  out 
of  a  stupor  which  had  not  been  sleep.  Being  stupor, 
however,  it  was  that  much  to  the  good.  He  had 
stopped  thinking.  He  couldn't  think.  His  head  didn't 
ache ;  it  was  merely  sore.  He  might  have  been  dash- 
ing it  against  the  wall,  as  figuratively  he  had  done. 
His  body  was  sore  too — stiff  from  long  sitting  in  the 
same  posture,  and  bruised  as  if  from  beating.  All 
that  was  nothing,  however,  since  misery  only  stunned 
him.  To  be  stunned  was  what  he  had  been  work- 
ing for. 

Out  in  the  air  the  wind  of  the  May  night  was  com- 
forting. It  soothed  his  nerves  without  waking  the 
dormant  brain.  Instead  of  looking  for  a  taxi  he  be- 
gan walking  up  the  Avenue.  Walking  too  was  a 
relief.  It  allowed  him  to  remain  as  stupefied  as  at 
first,  and  yet  stirred  the  circulation  in  his  limbs.  He 
meant  to  walk  till  he  grew  tired,  after  which  he  would 
jump  on  an  electric  bus. 

But  he  did  not  grow  tired.     He  passed  the  great 
304 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

milestones,  Fourteenth  Street,  Twenty-third  Street, 
Forty-second  Street,  Fifty-ninth  Street,  and  not  till 
crossing  the  last  did  he  begin  to  feel  fagged.  He  was 
then  so  near  home  that  the  impulse  of  doggedness 
kept  him  on  foot.  He  was  a  strong  walker,  and 
physically  in  good  condition,  without  being  wholly 
robust.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  kilted  Highlander 
he  would  hardly  have  felt  fatigue ;  but  as  it  was,  the 
corner  of  East  Sixty-seventh  Street  found  him  as 
spent  as  he  cared  to  be. 

Advancing  toward  his  door  he  saw  a  man  coming  in 
the  other  direction.  There  was  nothing  in  that,  and 
he  would  scarcely  have  noticed  him,  only  for  the  fact 
that  at  this  hour  of  the  night  pedestrians  in  the 
quarter  were  rare.  In  addition  to  that  the  man,  hav- 
ing reached  the  foot  of  Allerton's  own  steps,  stood 
there  waiting,  as  if  with  intention. 

Through  the  obscurity  Rash  could  see  only  that  the 
man  was  well  built,  flashily  dressed,  and  that  he  wore 
a  sweeping  mustache.  In  his  manner  of  standing 
and  waiting  there  was  something  significant  and  men- 
acing. Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  Allerton  could 
do  no  less  than  pause  to  ask  if  the  stranger  was 
looking  for  anyone. 

"Is  your  name  Allerton?" 

"Yes;  it  is." 

"Then  I  want  my  girl." 

It  was  some  seconds  before  Rash  could  get  his 
dulled  mind  into  play.  Moreover,  the  encounter  was 
of  a  kind  which  made  him  feel  sick  and  disgusted. 

"Whom  do  you  mean?"  he  managed  to  ask,  at 
last. 

305 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

'*You  know  very  well  who  I  mean.  I  mean  Lctty 
Gravely.  I'm  her  father;  and  by  God,  if  you  dcwi't 
give  her  up — with  big  damages " 

"I  can't  give  her  up,  because  she's  not  here." 

"Not  here?  She  was  damn  well  here  the  day 
before  yesterday." 

"Yes;  she  was  here  the  day  before  yesterday;  but 
she  disappeared  last  night." 

"Ah,  cut  that  kind  o'  talk.  I'm  wise,  I  am.  You 
can't  put  that  bunk  over  on  me.  She's  in  there,  and 
I'm  goin'  to  get  her." 

"I  wish  she  was  in  there ;  but  she's  not." 

"How  do  I  know  she's  not?" 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  take  my  word  for  it." 

"Like  hell  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  I'm  goin* 
to  see  for  myself." 

"I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  do  that." 

"I'm  goin'  in  with  you." 

"That  wouldn't  do  you  any  good.  Besides,  I  can't 
let  you." 

The  man  became  more  bullying.  "See  here,  son. 
This  game  is  my  game.  Did  j'ever  see  a  thing  like 
this?" 

Watching  the  movement  of  his  hand  Rash  saw 
the  handle  of  a  revolver  displayed  in  a  side  pocket. 

"Yes,  I've  seen  a  thing  like  that;  but  even  if  it 
was  loaded — which  I  don't  believe  it  is — ^you've  too 
much  sense  to  use  it.  You  might  shoot  me,  of  course ; 
but  you  wouldn't  find  the  girl  in  the  house,  because 
she  isn't  there." 

"Well,  I'm  goin*  to  see.  You  march.  Up  you 
go,  and  open  that  door,  and  I'll  follow  )rou." 

306 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't."  Allerton  looked  round  for 
the  policeman  who  occasionally  passed  that  way ;  but 
though  a  lighted  car  crashed  down  Madison  Avenue 
there  was  no  one  in  sight.  He  might  have  called  in 
the  hope  of  waking  the  men  upstairs,  but  that  seemed 
cowardly.  Though  in  a  physical  encounter  with  a 
ruffian  like  this  he  could  hardly  help  getting  the  worst 
of  it— especially  in  his  state  of  half  intoxication — it 
was  the  encounter  itself  that  he  loathed,  even  more 
than  the  defeat.  "Oh,  no,  you  won't,"  he  repeated, 
taking  one  step  upward,  and  turning  to  defend  his 
premises.  "I  don't  mean  that  you  shall  come  into 
this  house,  or  ever  see  the  girl  again,  if  I  can  pre- 
vent it." 

"Oh,  you  don't,  don't  you?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Then  take  that." 

The  words  were  so  quickly  spoken,  and  the  blow 
in  his  face  so  unexpected,  that  Rash  staggered  back- 
wards. Being  on  a  step  he  had  little  or  no  footing, 
and  having  been  drinking  his  balance  was  the  more 
quickly  lost. 

"And  that!" 

A  second  blow  in  the  face  sent  him  down  like  a 
stone,  without  a  struggle  or  a  cry. 

He  fell  limply  on  his  back,  his  feet  slipping  to  the 
sidewalk,  his  body  sagging  on  the  steps  like  a  bit  of 
string,  accidentally  dropped  there.  The  hat,  which 
fell  off,  remained  on  the  step  beside  the  head  it  had 
been  covering. 

The  man  leaped  backward,  as  if  surprised  at  his 
own  deed.     He  looked  this  way  and  that,  to  see  if 

307 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

he  had  been  observed.  A  lighted  car  crashed  up 
Madison  Avenue,  but  otherwise  the  street  remained 
empty.  Creeping  nearer  the  steps  he  bent  over  his 
victim,  whose  left  hand  lay  helpless  and  outstretched. 
Timidly,  gingerly,  he  put  his  fingers  to  the  pulse, 
starting  back  from  it  with  a  shock.  He  spoke  but 
two  words,  but  he  spoke  them  half  aloud. 

"Dead!    God!" 

Then  he  walked  swiftly  away  into  Madison  Ave- 
nue, where  he  soon  found  a  car  going  southward. 


Chapter  XXIV 

BARBARA  was  late  for  breakfast.  Miss  Wal- 
brook,  the  aunt,  was  scanning  the  morning  paper, 
her  refined,  austere  Americanism  being  as  noticeable 
in  the  dining-room  as  elsewhere  in  the  house.  Every- 
thing was  slender  and  strong;  everjiihing  was  Amer- 
ican, unless  it  was  the  Persian  rug.  On  the  paneled 
walls  there  were  but  three  portraits,  a  Boston  ances- 
tress, in  lace  cap  and  satins,  painted  by  Copley;  a 
Philadelphia  ancestor  in  the  Continental  uniform, 
painted  by  Gilbert  Stuart ;  and  her  New  York  grand- 
mother, painted  by  Thomas  Sully,  looking  over  her 
shoulder  with  the  wild  backward  glance  that  artist 
gives  to  the  girl  Victoria  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum. 
In  a  flat  cabinet  along  a  wall  was  the  largest  collec- 
tion of  old  American  glass  to  be  found  in  the  country. 

Barbara  rushed  in,  with  apologies  for  being  late. 
"I  didn't  sleep  a  wink.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  as  if 
I  should  ever  sleep  again.     Where's  my  cup?" 

"Wildgoose  will  bring  it.  As  the  coffee  had  grown 
cold  he  took  that  and  the  cup  to  keep  warm.  What's 
the  matter?" 

Wildgoose  stepped  in  with  the  missing  essentials. 
A  full-fed,  round-faced,  rubicund  man  of  fifty-odd 
he  looked  a  perennial  twenty-five.  Barbara  began 
to  minister  to  herself. 

"Oh,  everything's  the  matter.  I  told  you  yester- 
day that  that  girl  had  run  away.  Well,  I  begin  to 
wish  she'd  run  back  again." 

309 


.  THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Miss  Walbrook,  the  elder,  had  this  in  common 
with  Miss  Henrietta  Towell,  that  she  believed  it  best 
for  everyone  to  work  out  his  own  salvation,  Barbara 
had  her  personal  life  to  live,  and  while  her  aunt  would 
help  her  to  live  it,  she  wouldn't  guide  her  choice. 
She  continued,  therefore,  to  scan  the  paper  till  her 
niece  should  say  something  more. 

She  said  it,  not  because  she  wanted  to  give  infor- 
mation, but  because  she  was  temperamentally  out- 
spcJcen.  "I  begin  to  wish  there  were  no  men  in  the 
world.  If  women  are  men  in  a  higher  stage  of  devel- 
(^ment,  why  didn't  men  die  out,  so  that  we  could  be 
rid  of  them?  Isn't  that  what  we  generally  get  from 
the  survival  of  the  fittest?" 

Miss  Walbrook's  thin,  clear  smile  suggested  the 
edge  of  a  keenly  tempered  blade.  "I've  never  said 
that  women  were  men  in  a  higher  stage  of  develop- 
ment. I've  said  that  in  their  parallel  states  of  devel- 
(^ment  women  had  advanced  a  stage  beyond  men. 
You  may  say  of  every  generation  born  that  women 
begin  where  men  leave  off.  I  suppose  that  that's 
what's  meant  by  the  mjrth  of  Eve  springing  from 
Adam's  side.  It  was  to  be  noticed  even  then,  in  the 
prehistoric,  in  the  age  that  formed  the  great  legends. 
Adam  was  asleep,  when  Eve  as  a  vital  force  leaped 
away  from  him.  If  it  wasn't  for  Eve's  vitality  the 
human  race  would  still  be  in  the  Stone  Age." 

Barbara  harked  back  to  what  for  her  was  the  prac- 
tical. "Some  of  us  are  in  the  Stone  Age  as  it  is. 
I'm  sure  Rash  Allerton  is  as  nearly  an  elemental  as 
one  can  be,  and  still  belong  to  clubs  and  drive  in 
motorcars." 

31Q 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Miss  Walbrook  risked  her  principles  of  non-inter- 
ference so  far  as  to  say:  "It's  part  of  our  feminine 
lack  of  development  that  we're  always  inclined  to 
look  back  on  the  elemental  with  pity,  and  even  with 
regret.  The  woman  was  never  born  who  didn't  have 
in  her  something  of  Lot's  wife." 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Marion.  In  a  way  that  lets 
me  out.  If  I'm  no  weaker  than  the  rest  of  my 
sex " 

"Than  many  of  the  rest  of  your  sex." 

"Very  well,  then;  than  many  of  the  rest  of  my 
sex;  if  I'm  no  weaker  than  that  I  don't  have  to  lose 
my  self-respect." 

"You  don't  have  to  lose  your  self-respect ;  you  only 
risk — your  reason." 

Barbara  stared  at  her.  "That's  the  very  thing  I'm 
afraid  of.  I'd  give  anything  for  peace  of  mind. 
How  did  you  know?" 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  call  for  much  astuteness.  I  don't 
suppose  there's  a  married  woman  in  the  world  in 
full  command  of  her  wits.  You've  noticed  how 
foolish  most  of  them  are.  That's  why.  It  isn't  that 
they  were  born  foolish.  They've  simply  been  addled 
by  enforced  adaptation  to  mates  of  lower  intelligence. 
Oh,  I'm  not  scolding.  I'm  merely  stating  a  natural, 
observed,  psychological  fact.  The  woman  who  mar- 
ries says  good-bye  to  the  orderly  working  of  her 
faculties.  For  that  she  may  get  compensations,  with 
which  I  don't  intend  to  find  fault.  But  compensa- 
tions or  no,  to  a  clear-thinking  woman  like " 

"Like  yourself.  Aunt  Marion." 

"Very  well;  like  myself,  if  you  will;  but  to  a  clear- 

3" 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

thinking  woman  it's  as  obvious  as  daylight  that  her 
married  sisters  are  partially  demented.  They  may 
not  know  it;  the  partially  demented  never  do.  And 
it's  no  good  telling  them,  because  they  don't  believe 
you.  I'm  only  saying  it  to  you  to  warn  you  in 
advance.  If  you  part  with  your  reason,  it's  some- 
thing to  know  that  you  do  it  of  your  own  free  will." 

Once  more  Barbara  confined  herself  to  the  case  in 
hand.  "Still,  I  don't  believe  every  man  is  as  trying 
as  Rash  Allerton." 

"Not  in  his  particular  way,  perhaps.  But  if  it's 
not  in  one  way  then  it's  in  another." 

"Even  he  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  he  could  control 
himself.  At  the  minute  when  he's  tearing  down  the 
house  he  wants  you  to  tell  him  that  he's  calm." 

"If  he  didn't  want  you  to  tell  him  that  it  would  be 
something  equally  preposterous.  There's  little  to 
choose  between  men." 

Barbara  grew  thoughtful.  "Still,  if  people  didn't 
marry  the  human  race  would  die  out." 

"And  would  there  be  any  harm  in  that?  It's  not 
a  danger,  of  course;  but  if  it  was,  would  anyone  in 
his  senses  want  to  stop  it?  Looking  round  on  the 
human  race  to-day  one  can  hardly  help  saying  that 
the  sooner  it  dies  out  the  better.  Since  we  can't  kill 
it  off,  it's  well  to  remember " 

"To  remember  what,  Aunt  Marion?" 

Miss  Walbrook  reflected  as  to  how  to  express  her- 
self cautiously.  "To  remember  that — in  marrying — 
and  having  children — children  who  will  have  to  face 
the  highly  probable  miseries  of  the  next  generation 
— Well,  I'm  glad  there'll  be  no  one  to  reproach  me 

312 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

with  his  being  in  the  world,  either  as  his  mother  or 
his  ancestress." 

"They  say  Rash's  father  and  mother  didn't  want 
him  in  the  world,  and  I  sometimes  wish  they'd  had 
their  way.  If  he  wasn't  here — or  if  he  was  dead — I 
believe  I  could  be  happier.  I  shouldn't  be  forever 
worrying  about  him.  I  shouldn't  have  him  on  my 
mind.  I  often  wonder  if  it's — if  it's  love  I  feel  for 
him — or  only  an  agonizing  sense  of  responsibility." 

The  door  being  open  Walter  Wildgoose  waddled 
to  the  threshold,  where  he  stood  with  his  right  hand 
clasped  in  his  left.  "Mr.  Steptoe  at  Mr.  AUerton's 
to  speak  to  Miss  Barbara  on  the  telyphone,  please." 

Barbara  gasped.  "Oh,  Lord !  I  wonder  what  it  is 
now !" 

Left  to  herself  Miss  Walbrook  resumed  her  scan- 
ning of  the  paper,  but  she  resumed  it  with  the  faintest 
quiver  of  a  smile  on  her  thin,  cleanly-cut  lips.  It 
was  the  kind  of  smile  which  indicates  patient  hope,  or 
the  anticipation  of  something  satisfactory. 

"Oh!" 

The  exclamation  was  so  loud  as  to  be  heard  all  the 
way  from  the  telephone,  which  was  in  another  part 
of  the  house.  Miss  Walbrook  let  the  paper  fall,  sat 
bolt  upright,  and  listened. 

"Oh!    Oh!" 

It  was  like  a  second,  and  repeated,  explosion.  Miss 
Walbrook  rose  to  her  feet;  the  paper  rustled  to  the 
floor. 

"Oh!    Oh!" 

The  sound  was  that  which  human  beings  make 
when  the  thing  told  them  is  more  than  they  can  bear. 

313 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Barbara  cried  out  as  if  someone  was  beating  her  with 
clubs,  and  she  was  coming  to  her  knees. 

She  was  not  coming  to  her  knees.  When  her 
aunt  reached  her  she  was  still  standing  by  the  little 
table  in  the  hall  which  held  the  telephone,  on  which 
she  had  hung  up  the  receiver.  She  supported  herself 
with  one  hand  on  the  table,  as  a  woman  does  when  all 
she  can  do  is  not  to  fall  senseless. 

"It's — it's  Rash,"  she  panted,  as  she  saw  her  aunt 
appear.     "Somebody  has — ^has  killed  him." 

Miss  Walbrook  stood  with  hands  clasped,  like  one 
transfixed.     "He's  dead?— after  all?" 

Barbara  nodded,  tearlessly.  She  could  stammer 
out  the  words,  but  no  more.    "Yes — ^all  but !" 

In  the  flat  at  Red  Point  there  was  another  and  dis- 
similar breakfast  scene.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  Letty  was  having  coffee  and  toast  in  bed.  The 
window  was  open,  and  between  the  muslin  curtains, 
which  puffed  in  the  soft  May  wind,  she  could  see 
the  ocean  with  steamers  and  ships  on  it. 

The  room  was  tiny,  but  it  was  spotless.  Every- 
thing was  white,  except  where  here  and  there  it  was 
tied  up  with  a  baby-blue  ribbon.  Anything  that  could 
be  tied  with  a  baby-blue  ribbon  was  so  tied. 

Letty  thought  she  had  never  seen  anything  so 
dainty,  though  her  experienced  eye  could  detect  the 
fact  that  nothing  had  really  cost  money.  As  an  open- 
ing to  the  career  on  which  she  had  embarked  the 
setting  was  imexpected,  while  the  method  of  her 
treatment  was  bewildering.  In  the  black  recesses  of 
her  heart  Miss  Henrietta  Towell  might  be  hiding  all 

314 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

those  feline  machinations  which  Mrs.  Judson  Flack  had 
led  Letty  to  believe  a  part  of  the  great  world's  stock-in- 
trade  ;  but  it  couldn't  be  denied  that  she  hid  them  well. 
Letty  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  "There's 
quite  a  trick  to  it,"  Steptoe  had  warned  her;  but  the 
explanation  seemed  inadequate  to  the  phenomena. 

Sipping  her  coffee  and  crunching  her  toast  she  was 
driven  to  ponder  on  the  ways  of  wickedness.  She  had 
expected  them  to  be  more  obvious.  All  her  informa- 
tion was  to  the  effect  that  an  unprotected  girl  in  a 
world  of  males  was  a  lamb  among  lions,  a  victim 
with  no  way  of  escape.  That  she  was  a  lamb  among 
lions,  and  a  victim  with  no  way  of  escape,  she  was 
still  prepared  to  believe;  only  the  preliminaries  puz- 
zled her.  Instead  of  being  crude,  direct,  indelicate, 
they  were  subtle  and  misleading.  After  twenty-four 
hours  in  Miss  Towell's  spare  room  there  was  still  no 
hint  of  anything  but  coddling. 

"You  see,  my  dear,"  Miss  Towell  had  said,  "if  I 
don't  nurse  you  back  to  real  'ealth,  him  that  gave  you 
the  thimble  might  be  displeased  with  me." 

It  was  not  often  that  Miss  Towell  dropped  an  h  or 
added  one ;  but  in  moments  of  emotion  early  habit  was 
too  strong  for  her. 

Coming  into  the  room  now,  on  some  ermine's  errand 
of  neatness,  she  threw  a  glance  at  Letty,  and  said : 
"You  don't  look  like  a  Rashleigh,  do  you,  dear  ?  But 
then  you  never  can  tell  anything  about  families  from 
looks,  can  you?" 

It  was  her  nearest  approach  as  yet  to  the  personal, 
and  Letty  considered  as  to  how  she  was  to  meet  it. 
"I'm  not  a  Rashleigh — not  really — only  by — by  mar- 
21  315 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

riage.  Rashleigh  isn't  my  real  name.  It's — it's  the 
name  I'm  going  by  in  pictures." 

"Oh!" 

Miss  Toweli's  exclamation  was  the  subdued  one  of 
acquiescence.  She  knew  that  ladies  in  pictures  often 
preferred  names  other  than  their  own,  and  if  Letty 
was  not  a  Rashleigh  it  "explained  things."  That  is, 
it  explained  how  anyone  called  Rashleigh  could  be 
wandering  about  in  this  friendless  way,  though  it 
made  'Enery  Steptoe's  intervention  the  more  mysteri- 
ous. It  was  conceivable  that  he  might  act  on  behalf 
of  a  genuine  Rashleigh,  however  out  at  elbow;  but 
that  he  should  take  such  pains  for  a  spurious  one,  and 
go  to  the  length  of  sending  the  sacred  silver  thimble 
as  a  pledge,  rendered  the  situation  puzzling. 

Schooled  by  her  religious  precepts  to  taking  her 
duties  as  those  of  a  minute  at  a  time  Miss  Towel! 
made  no  effort  to  force  the  girl's  confidence,  and  espe- 
cially since  Letty,  like  most  young  people  in  trouble, 
was  on  her  guard  against  giving  it.  So  long  as  she 
preferred  to  be  shut  up  within  herself,  shut  up  within 
herself  she  should  remain.  Miss  Towell  felt  that,  for 
the  moment  at  least,  her  own  responsibility  was  limited 
to  making  the  child  feel  that  someone  cared  for  her. 

At  the  same  time  she  couldn't  have  been  a  lonely 
woman  with  a  love-story  behind  her  without  the  im- 
pulse to  dwell  a  little  longingly  on  the  one  romantic 
incident  in  her  experience.  Though  it  had  never  come 
to  anything,  the  fact  that  it  had  once  opened  its  shy 
little  flower  made  a  sweet  bright  place  to  which  her 
thoughts  could  retire. 

The  references  came  spasmodically  and  without  con- 
316 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

text,  as  the  little  white  lady  busied  herself  in  waiting 
on  Letty  or  in  the  care  of  her  room. 

**I  haven't  seen  him  since  a  short  time  after  the  mis- 
tress went  away." 

Letty  felt  herself  coloring.  Though  not  prudish 
there  were  words  she  couldn't  get  used  to.  Besides 
which  she  had  never  thought  that  Steptoe.  .  .  .  But 
Miss  Towell  pursued  her  memories. 

"It  always  worried  him  that  I  should  hold  views 
different  from  his  but  I  couldn't  submit  to  dictation, 
now,  could  I,  dear?" 

Once  more  Letty  felt  herself  awkwardly  placed. 
The  only  interpretation  she  could  put  on  Miss  Towell's 
words  referring  to  moral  reformation  on  her  hostess's 
part  she  said,  as  non-committally  as  might  be :  "He's 
a  good  deal  of  a  stickler." 

"He's  been  so  long  in  a  high  position  that  he  be- 
comes— well,  I  won't  be  'arsh — but  he  becomes  a  little 
harbitrary.  That's  where  it  was.  He  was  a  httle 
harbitrary.  With  a  mistress  who  allowed  him  a  great 
deal  of  his  own  way — well,  you  can  hardly  blame  him, 
can  you,  dear?" 

Letty  forced  herself  to  accept  the  linguistic  standard 
of  the  world.  "I  suppose  if  she  hadn't  allowed  him  a 
great  deal  of  his  own  way  he'd  have  looked  somewhere 
else." 

"That  he  could  easily  have  done.  He  had  tempta- 
tions enough — a  man  like  him.  Why,  dear,  there  was 
a  lady  in  Park  Avenue  did  everything  she  could  that 
wasn't  positively  dishonorable  to  win  him  away '* 

"He  must  have  been  younger  and  better  looking 
than  he  is  now,"  Letty  hazarded,  bluntly. 

317 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  a  question  of  looks.  Of  course  if 
she'd  considered  that,  why,  any  foolish  young  fellow 
— but  she  knew  what  she  would  have  got." 

Not  being  at  her  ease  in  this  kind  of  conversation, 
and  finding  the  effort  to  see  Steptoe  as  Lothario  diffi- 
cult, Letty  became  blunt  again.  "He  must  have  had 
an  awful  crush  on  the  first  one." 

"It  wasn't  her  exactly ;  it  was  the  boy.** 

"Oh,  there  was  a  boy?" 

"Why  of  course,  dear!    Didn't  you  know  that?" 

**Whose  boy  was  it  ?" 

"Why,  the  mistress's  boy ;  but  I  don't  think  he ** 

Letty  understood  the  pronoun  as  applying  to  Steptoe — 
*T  don't  think  he  ever  realized  that  he  wasn't  his  very 
own."  Straightening  the  white  cover  on  the  chest  of 
drawers  Miss  Towell  shook  her  head.  "It  was  a  sad 
case." 

"What  made  it  sad?" 

"A  lovely  boy  he  was.  Had  a  kind  word  for  every- 
one, even  for  the  cat.  But  somehow  his  father  and 
mother — ^well,  they  were  people  of  the  world,  and 
they  hadn't  wanted  a  child,  and  when  he  came — ^and 
he  so  delicate  always — I  could  have  cried  over  him." 

Letty's  heart  began  to  swell ;  her  lip  trembled.  "I 
know  someone  like  that  myself." 

"Do  you,  dear?    Then  I'm  sure  you  imderstand." 

Partly  because  the  minute  was  emotional,  and  partly 
from  a  sense  that  she  needed  to  explain  herself,  Letty 
murmured,  more  or  less  indistinctly:  "It's  on  his 
account  that  I'm  here." 

Failing  to  see  the  force  of  this  Miss  Towell  was 
content  to  say :   "I'm  glad  you  were  led  to  me,  dear. 

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JHE    DUST    FLOWER 

There's  always  a  power  to  shepherd  us  along,  if  we'll 
only  let  ourselves  be  guided," 

To  Letty  the  moment  had  arrived  when  plainness  of 
speech  was  imperative.  Leaning  across  the  tray,  which 
still  stood  on  her  lap,  she  gazed  up  at  her  hostess  with 
eager,  misty  eyes.  *^He  said  you'd  teach  me  all  the 
ropes." 

Miss  Towell  paused  beside  the  bed,  to  look  inquir- 
ingly at  the  tense  little  face.  "The  ropes  of  what, 
dear?" 

"Of  what — "  it  was  hard  to  express — "of  what 
you — ^you  used  to  be  yourself.  You  don't  seem  like 
it  now,"  she  added,  desperately,  "but  you  were,  weren't 
you?" 

"Oh,  that !"  The  surprise  was  in  the  discovery  that 
an  American  girl  of  Letty's  age  could  entertain  so 
sensible  a  purpose.  "Why,  of  course,  dear!  I'll  tell 
you  all  I  know,  and  welcome." 

"There's  quite  a  trick  to  it,  isn't  there  ?" 

"Well,  it's  more  than  a  trick.  There  are  two  or 
three  things  which  you  simply  have  to  be." 

"Oh,  I  know  that.    That's  what  frightens  me." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  once  you've  made  up  your 
mind  to  it."  She  leaned  above  the  bed  to  relieve  Letty 
of  the  tray.  "For  instance — you  don't  mind  my  ask- 
ing questions  do  you?" 

"Oh,  no!    You  can  ask  me  anything." 

"Then  the  first  thing  is  this :  "Are  you  pretty  good 
as  a  needle-woman?" 

Letty  was  astounded.  "Why — why  you  don't  have 
to  sew,  do  you?" 

"Certainly,  dear.    That's  one  of  the  most  important 

319 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

things  you'd  be  called  on  to  do.  You'd  never  get  any- 
where if  you  weren't  quick  with  your  needle  and 
thread.  And  then  there'd  be  hair-dressing.  You  have 
to  know  something  about  that.  I  don't  say  that  you 
must  be  a  professional ;  but  for  the  simpler  occasions 
— after  that  there's  packing.  That's  something  we 
often  overlook,  and  where  French  girls  have  us  at  a 
disadvantage.    They  pack  so  beautifully." 

Letty  was  entirely  at  sea.    "Pack  what  ?" 

"Pack  tnmks,  dear." 

"What  for?" 

"For  travel ;  for  moving  from  town  to  country ;  or 
from  country  to  town;  or  making  visits;  you  see 
you're  always  on  the  go.  Oh,  it's  more  than  a  trick; 
it's  quite  an  art ;  only — "  She  smiled  at  Letty  as  she 
stood  holding  the  tray,  before  carrying  it  out — "only, 
I  shouldn't  have  supposed  you'd  be  thinking  of  that 
when  you  act  in  moving  pictures." 

"I — I  thought  I  might  do  both." 

"Now,  I  should  say  that  that's  one  thing  you  couldn't 
do,  dear.  If  you  took  up  this  at  all  you'd  find  it  so 
absorbing " 

"And  you're  very  unhappy  too,  aren't  you?  I've 
always  heard  you  were." 

"Well,  that  would  depend  a  good  deal  on  yourself. 
There's  nothing  in  the  thing  itself  to  make  you  un- 
happy ;  but  sometimes  there  are  other  women " 

Letty's  eyes  were  flaming.  "They  say  they're 
awful." 

"Oh,  not  always.  It's  a  good  deal  as  you  carry 
yourself.  I  made  it  a  point  to  keep  my  position  and 
respect  the  position  of  others.    It  wasn't  always  easy, 

320 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

espedally  with  Mary  Ann  Courage  and  Janie  Cake- 
bread;  but " 

Letty's  head  fell  back  on  the  pillow.  Her  eyes 
closed.  A  merry-go-round  was  spinning  in  her  head. 
Where  was  she?  How  had  she  come  there?  What 
was  she  there  for?  Where  was  the  wickedness  she 
had  been  told  to  look  for  everywhere  ?  Having  gone 
in  search  of  it,  and  expected  to  find  it  IjHing  in  wait 
from  the  first  minute  of  passing  the  protecting  door, 
she  had  been  shuffled  along  from  one  to  another,  with 
exasperating  kindness,  only  to  be  brought  face  to  face 
with  Jane  Cakebread  and  Mary  Ann  Courage  at  the 
end. 

Miss  Towell  having  borne  away  the  tray,  Letty 
struggled  out  of  bed,  and  put  on  the  woollen  dressing 
gown  thrown  over  a  chair  by  the  bedside.  This  was 
no  place  for  her.  Beehive  Valley  was  not  far  off,  and 
her  forty-five  cents  would  more  than  suffice  to  take 
her  there.  She  would  see  the  casting  director.  She 
would  get  a  job.  With  food  to  eat  and  a  place  to 
sleep  as  a  starting  point  she  would  find  her  own  way 
to  wickedness,  releasing  the  prince  in  spite  of  all  the 
mishaps  which  kept  her  as  she  was. 

But  she  trembled  so  that  having  wrapped  the  dress- 
ing gown  about  her  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down  again. 
She  would  have  to  be  crafty.  She  must  get  this  woman 
to  help  her  with  her  dressing,  without  suspecting  what 
she  meant  to  do.  How  could  she  manage  that  ?  She 
must  try  to  think. 

She  was  trying  to  think  when  she  heard  the  ring 
of  the  telephone.  It  suggested  an  idea.  Some  time — 
not  this  time,  of  course — when  the  telephone  rang  and 

321 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

the  woman  was  answering  it,  she,  Letty,  would  be 
able  to  slip  away.  The  important  thing  was  to  do  her 
hair  and  get  her  clothes  on, 

"Yes?  .  .  .  Yes?"  There  was  a  little  catch  to  the 
breath,  a  smothered  laugh,  a  smothered  sigh.  "Oh, 
so  this  is  you !  .  .  .  Yes,  I  got  it.  .  .  Seeing  it  again 
gave  me  quite  a  turn.  ...  I  never  expected  that  you'd 
keep  it  all  this  time,  but.  .  .  .  Yes,  she's  here.  .  .  . 
No;  she  didn't  come  exactly  of  her  own  accord,  but 
I — I  found  her.  ...  I  could  tell  you  about  it  easier 
if  you  were — it's  so  hard  on  the  telephone  when  there's 
so  much  to  say — ^but  perhaps  you  don't  care  to.  .  .  . 
Yes,  she's  quite  well— only  a  little  tired — ^been  worked 
up  somehow — ^but  a  day  or  so  in  bed.  .  .  .  Oh,  very 
sensible  .  .  .  and  she  wants  me  to  teach  her  how  to 
be  a  lady's  maid.  .  .  ." 

So  that  was  it!  Steptoe  had  been  treacherous. 
Letty  would  never  believe  in  anyone  again.  She 
could  make  these  reflections  hurriedly  because  the  voice 
at  the  telephone  was  silent. 

"Oh!" 

It  was  the  same  exclamation  as  that  of  Barbara 
Walbrook,  but  in  another  tone — a  tone  of  distress, 
sharp,  sympathetic.  Pulling  the  dressing  gown  about 
her,  frightened,  tense,  Letty  knew  that  something  had 
gone  wrong. 

"Oh!  Oh!  ...  last  night,  did  you  say?  .  .  . 
early  this  morning.  ..." 

Letty  crept  to  where  her  hostess  was  seated  at  the 
telephone.    "What  is  it?" 

But  Miss  Towell  either  didn't  hear  the  question  or 
was  too  absorbed  to  answer  it.    "Oh,  'Enery,  try  to 

322 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

remember  that  God  is  his  life — ^that  there  can  be  no 
death  to  be  afraid  of  when " 

Letty  snatched  the  receiver  from  the  other  woman's 
hands,  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  little  table. 
"Oh,  what  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  It's  me ;  Letty !  Some- 
thing's happened.    I've  got  to  know." 

Amazed  and  awed  by  the  force  of  this  intrusion 
Miss  Towell  stood  up,  and  moved  a  little  back. 

Over  the  wire  Steptoe's  voice  sounded  to  Letty 
like  the  ghost  of  his  voice,  broken,  dead. 

"I  think  if  I  was  madam  I'd  come  back." 

*TBut  what's  happened?    Tell  me  that  first." 

"It's  Mr.  Rash." 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  Mr.  Rash.  But  what  is  it  ?  Tell 
me  quickly,  for  God's  sake." 

"  'E's  been  'it." 

Her  utterance  was  as  nearly  as  possible  a  cry.  "But 
he  hasn't  been  killed  f" 

"Madam'd  find  'im  alive — if  she  'urried." 

When  Letty  rose  from  her  knees  she  was  strong. 
She  was  calm,  too,  and  competent.  She  further  sur- 
prised Miss  Towell  by  the  way  in  which  she  took 
ccanmand. 

"I  must  hurry.  They  want  me  at  once.  Would 
you  mind  helping  me  to  dress  ?" 


Chapter  XXV 

**T^HE  queer  thing  about  it,  miss,"  Steptoe  was  say- 

*  ing  to  Barbara,  "is  that  I  didn't  'ear  no  noise.  My 
winder  is  just  above  the  front  door,  two  floors  up, 
and  it  was  open.  I  always  likes  an  open  winder, 
especially  when  the  weather  begins  to  get  warm — 
makes  it  'ealthier  like,  and  so " 

"Yes,  but  tell  me  just  how  he  is." 

"That's  what  I'm  comin'  to,  miss.  The  minute  I 
see  what  an  awful  styte  we  was  in,  I  says,  Miss  Wal- 
brook,  she'll  'ave  to  know,  I  says;  and  so  I  called  up. 
Well,  as  I  was  a-tellin  you,  miss,  I  couldn't  sleep  all 
night,  'ardly  not  any,  thinkin  of  all  what  'ad  'appened 
in  the  *ouse,  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  as  you 
might  sye — and  madam  run  awye — and  Mr.  Rash  'e 
not  'ome — and  it  one  o'clock  and  lyter.  Not  but  what 
*e's  often  l)i:er  than  that,  only  last  night  I  'ad  that  kind 
of  a  feelin'  which  you'll  get  when  you  know  things  is 
not  right,  and  you  don't  *ardly  know  'ow  you  know 
it." 

"Yes,  Steptoe,"  she  interposed,  eagerly;  "but  is  he 
conscious  now?    That's  what  I  want  to  hear  about." 

Steptoe's  expression  of  grief  lay  in  working  up  to 
a  dramatic  climax  dramatically.  He  didn't  understand 
the  hurried  leaps  and  bounds  by  which  you  took  the 
tragic  on  the  skip,  as  if  it  were  not  portentous.  In 
his  response  to  Miss  Walbrook  there  was  a  hint  of 
irritation,  and  perhaps  of  rebuke. 

324 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

"I  couldn't  sye  what  'e  is  now,  miss,  as  the  doctor 
and  the  nurse  is  with  'im,  and  won't  let  nobody  in 
till  they  decides  whether  *e's  to  live  or  die."  Rock- 
ing himself  back  and  forth  in  his  chair  he  moaned  in 
stricken  anticipation.  "If  'e  goes,  I  shan't  be  long 
after  'im.  I  may  linger  a  bit,  but  the  good  Lord  won't 
move  me  on  too  soon." 

Barbara  curbed  her  impatience  to  reach  the  end, 
going  back  to  the  beginning.  "Well,  then,  was  it  you 
who  found  'im?" 

"It  was  this  wye,  miss.  Knowin'  'e  wasn't  in  the 
'ouse,  I  kep'  goin'  to  my  winder  and  listenin' — and 
then  goin'  back  to  bed  agyne — I  couldn't  tell  you  'ow 
many  times ;  and  then,  if  you'd  believe  it  I  must  'ave  fell 
asleep.  No;  I  can't  believe  as  I  was  asleep.  I  just 
seemed  to  come  to,  like,  and  as  I  laid  there  wonderin* 
what  time  it  was,  seems  to  me  as  if  I  'card  a  kind  of 
a  snore,  like,  not  in  the  'ouse,  but  comin'  up  from  the 
street." 

**What  time  was  that?" 

"That'd  be  about  'alf  past  one.  Well,  up  I  gets 
and  creeps  to  the  winder,  and  sure  enough  the  snore 
come  right  up  from  the  steps.  Seems  to  me,  too,  I 
could  see  somethink  layin'  there,  all  up  and  down  the 
steps,  just  as  if  it  'ad  been  dropped  by  haccident  like. 
My  blood  freezes.  I  slips  into  my  thick  dressin* 
gown — no,  it  was  my  thin  dressin'  gown — I  always 
keeps  two — one  for  winter  and  one  for  summer — and 
this  spring  bein'  so  early  like " 

"But  in  the  end  you  got  down  stairs." 

"If  I  didn't,  miss,  'ow  could  I  'a'  found  *im?  I 
ain't  one  to  be  afryde  of  dynger,  not  even  'ere  in  New 

325 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

York,  where  you  can  be  robbed  and  murdered  with- 
out 'ardly  knowin'  it — and  the  police  that  slow  about 
follerin'  up  a  clue " 

"And  what  happened  when  you'd  opened  the  front 
door?" 

"I  didn't  open  it  at  once,  miss.  I  put  my  hear  to 
the  crack  and  listened.  And  there  it  was,  a  long  kind 
of  snore,  like — only  it  wasn't  just  what  you'd  call  a 
snore.  It  was  more  like  this."  He  drew  a  deep,  rasp- 
ing, stertorous  breath.  "Awful,  it  was,  miss,  just  like 
somebody  in  liquor.  'It's  liquor,'  I  says,  and  not 
wantin'  to  be  mixed  up  in  no  low  company  I  wasn't 
for  openin'  the  door  at  all " 

"But  you  did?" 

"Not  till  I'd  gone  'alf  wye  upstairs  and  down  agyne. 
I'm  like  that.  I  often  thinks  I'll  not  do  a  thing,  and 
then  I'll  sye  to  myself,  'Now,  perhaps  I'd  better,  and 
so  it  was  that  time.  'E's  out,  I  says,  and  who  knows 
but  what  'e's  fell  in  a  fynt  like?'  So  back  I  goes, 
and  I  peeps  out  a  little  bit — just  my  nose  out,  as  you 
might  sye,  not  knowin'  but  what  if  there  was  low 
company " 

"When  did  you  find  out  who  it  was  ?" 

"I  knowed  the  'at,  like.  It  was  that  'at  what  'e 
bought  afore  'e  bought  the  last  one.  No;  I  don't 
know  but  what  'e's  bought  two  since  'e  bought  that 
one — a  soft  felt,  and  a  cowboy  what  he  never  wore 
but  once  or  twice  because  it  wasn't  becomin'.  Youll 
'ave  noticed,  miss,  that  'e  'ad  one  o'  them  fyces  what 
don't  look  well  in  nothink  rakish — a  real  gentleman's 
fyce  'e  'ad — and  them  cowboy  'ats " 

"Well,  when  you  saw  that  hat,  what  did  you  do  ?" 
326 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

"For  quite  a  spell  I  didn't  do  nothink.  I  was  all 
blood-curdled,  as  you  might  sye.  But  by  and  by  I 
creeps  out,  and  down  the  steps,  and  there  'e  was,  all 
'uddled  every  wye " 

His  lip  trembled.  In  trying  to  go  on  he  produced 
only  a  few  incoherent  sounds.  Reaching  for  his  hand- 
kerchief, he  blew  his  nose,  before  being  able  to  say 
more. 

**Well,  the  first  thing  I  says  to  my^lf,  miss,  was, 
Is  'e  dead  ?  It  was  a  terrible  thing  to  sye  of  one  that's 
everythink  in  the  world  to  me;  but  seein'  'im  there, 
all  crumpled  up,  with  one  leg  one  wye,  and  the  other  leg 
another  wye,  and  a  harm  throwed  out  'elpless  like — ^well, 
what  was  I  to  think  ?  miss — ^and  'im  not  aible  to  sye  a 
word,  and  me  shykin'  like  a  leaf,  and  out  of  doors  in 
my  thin  dressin'  gown — if  I'd  'ad  on  my  thick  one 
I  wouldn't  'a'  felt  so  kind  of  shymeful  like " 

"You  might  have  known  he  wasn't  dead  when  you 
heard  him  breathing." 

"I  didn't  think  o'  that.  I  thought  as  'e  was.  And 
when  I  see  'is  poor  harm  stretched  out  so  wild  like  I 
creeps  nearer  and  nearer,  and  me  'ardly  aible  to  move 
— I  felt  so  bad — and  I  puts  my  finger  on  'is  pulse. 
Might  as  well  'ave  put  it  on  that  there  fender.  Then  I 
looks  at  'is  fyce  and  I  see  blood  on  'is  lip  and  'is  cheek. 
"Somethink's  struck  'im,  I  says;  and  then  I  just  loses 
consciousness,  and  puts  back  my  'ead,  as  you'll  see  a 
dog  do  when  'e  'owls,  and  I  yells.  Police!'* 

"Oh,  you  did  that,  did  you?" 

"I'm  ashymed  to  sye  it,  miss,  but  I  did;  and  who 
should  come  runnin*  along  but  the  policeman  what  in 
the  night  goes  up  and  down  our  beat.    By  that  time 

327 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

I'd  got  my  'and  on  'is  'eart,  and  the  policeman  'e  calls 
out  from  a  distance,  'Hi,  there !  What  you  doin'  to 
that  man  ?'  Thought  I  was  murderin'  'im,  you  see.  I 
says,  'My  boy,  'e  is,  and  I'm  tryin'  to  syve  'is  hfe.' 
[VVell,  the  policeman  'e  sees  I'm  in  my  dressin'  gown, 
and  don't  look  as  if  I'd  do  'im  any  'arm,  so  'e  kind  o' 
picks  up  'is  courage,  and  blows  'is  whistle,  and  another 
policeman  'e  runs  up  from  the  wye  of  the  Havenue. 
Then  when  there's  two  of  'em  they  ain't  afryde  no 
more,  so  that  the  first  one  'e  comes  up  to  me  quite 
bold  like,  and  arsks  me  who's  killed,  and  what's  killed 
*im,  and  I  tells  'im  'ow  I  was  layin'  awyke,  with  the 
winder  open,  and  Mr.  Rash  bein'  out  I  couldn't  sleep 
like " 

"How  long  did  they  let  him  lie  there?" 

"Oh,  not  long.  First  they  was  for  callin'  a  hambu- 
lance ;  but  when  I  tells  'em  that  'e's  my  boy,  and  lives 
in  my  'ouse,  they  brings  'im  in  and  we  lays  'im  on 
the  sofa  in  the  libery,  and  I  rings  up  Dr.  Lancing, 
and " 

But  something  in  Barbara  snapped.  She  could 
stand  no  more.  Not  to  cry  out  or  break  down  she 
sprang  to  her  feet.  "That'll  do,  Steptoe.  I  know  now 
all  I  need  to  know.  Thank  you  for  telling  me.  I 
shall  stay  here  till  the  doctor  or  the  nurse  comes  down. 
If  I  want  you  again  I'll  ring." 

Lashing  up  and  down  the  drawing-room,  wringing 
her  hands  and  moaning  inwardly,  Barbara  reflected 
on  the  speed  with  which  Nemesis  had  overtaken  her. 
"If  he  wasn't  here — or  if  he  was  dead,"  she  had  said, 
"I  believe  I  could  be  happier."  As  long  as  she  lived 
she    woulc    hear   the    curious    intonation    in    Aunt 

328 


"but  by   and   by   I   CREEPS   OUT   AND   DOWN    THE    STEPS,    AND  THERE    'e 
WAS,   ALL   'UDDLED  EVERY   WYE." 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Marion's  voice:  "He's  dead? — ^after  all?"  It  was  in 
that  after  aU  that  she  read  the  unspeakable  accusation 
of  herself. 

Waiting  for  the  doctor  was  not  long.  On  hearing 
his  step  on  the  stair  Barbara  went  out  to  meet  him. 
"How  is  he?"  she  asked,  without  wasting  time  over 
self -introductions. 

"It's  a  little  difficult  to  say  as  yet.  The  case  is  seri- 
ous. Just  how  serious  we  can't  tell  to-day — perhaps 
not  to-morrow.  I  find  no  trace  of  fracture  of  the 
cranium,  or  of  laceration  of  the  brain ;  but  it's  too  soon 
to  be  sure.  Dr.  Brace  and  Dr.  Wisdom,  who've  both 
been  here,  are  inclined  to  think  that  it  may  be  no  more 
than  a  simple  concussion.    We  must  wait  and  see." 

Relieved  to  this  extent  Barbara  went  on  to  explain 
herself.  "I'm  Miss  Walbrook.  I  was  engaged  to  Mr. 
Allerton  till — till  quite  recently.  We're  still  great 
friends — the  greatest  friends.  He  had  no  near  rela- 
tions— only  cousins — and  I  doubt  if  any  of  them  are 
in  New  York  as  late  in  the  season  as  this — and  even 
if  they  are  he  hardly  knows  them " 

The  doctor,  a  cheery,  robust  man  in  the  late  thirties, 
in  his  own  line  one  of  the  ablest  specialists  in  New 
York,  had  a  foible  for  social  position  and  his  success 
in  it.  Even  now,  with  such  grave  news  to  communi- 
cate, he  couldn't  divest  himself  of  his  dinner-party 
manner  or  his  smile. 

"I've  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Walbrook, 
at  the  Essingtons'  dinner — the  big  one  for  Isabel — 
and  afterwards  at  the  dance." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  Barbara  corroborated,  though  with 
no  recollection  of  the  encounter.     "I  knew  it  was 

329 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

somewhere,  but  I  couldn't  quite  recall — So  I  felt, 
when  the  butler  called  me  up,  that  I  should  be 
here " 

"Quite  so!  quite  so!  You'll  find  Miss  Gallifer, 
who's  with  him  now,  a  most  competent  nurse,  and  I 
shall  bring  a  good  night  nurse  before  evening."  The 
professional  side  of  the  situation  disposed  of,  he 
touched  tactfully  on  the  romantic.  "It  will  be  a  great 
thing  for  me  to  know  that  in  a  masculine  household 
like  this  a  woman  with  knowledge  and  authority  is 
running  in  and  out.  The  more  you  can  be  here,  Miss 
Walbrook,  the  more  responsibility  you'll  take  off  ray 
hands." 

"May  I  be  in  his  room — and  help  the  nurse — or  do 
anything  like  that  ?" 

"Quite  so!  quite  so!  I'm  sure  Miss  Gallifer,  who 
can't  be  there  every  minute  of  the  time,  you  tmder- 
stand,  will  be  glad  to  feel  that  there's  someone  she 
can  trust " 

"And  he  couldn't  know  I  was  there  ?" 

"Not  unless  he  returned  unexpectedly  to  conscious- 
ness, which  is  possible,  you  understand " 

Her  distress  was  so  great  that  she  hazarded  a  ques- 
tion on  which  she  would  not  otherwise  have  ventured. 
"Doctor,  you're  a  physician.  I  can  speak  to  you  as 
I  shouldn't  speak  to  everyone.  Suppose  he  did  return 
unexpectedly  to  consciousness,  and  found  me  there  in 
the  room,  do  you  think  he'd  be — annoyed?" 

It  was  the  sort  of  situation  he  liked,  a  part  in  the 
intimate  affairs  of  people  of  the  first  quality.  "As  to 
his  being  annoyed  I  can't  say.  It  might  be  the  very 
opposite.     What  I  know  is  this,  that  in  the  coming 

330 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

back  of  the  mind  to  its  regular  functions  inhibitions 
are  often  suspended " 

"And  you  mean  by  that ?" 

"That  the  first  few  minutes  in  which  the  mind  re- 
vives are  likely  to  be  minutes  of  genuine  reality.  I 
don't  say  that  the  mind  could  keep  it  up.  Very  few 
of  us  can  be  our  genuine  selves  for  more  than  flashes 
at  a  time;  but  a  returning  consciousness  doesn't  put 
on  its  inhibitions  till " 

"So  that  what  you  see  in  those  few  minutes  you 
can  take  as  the  truth." 

"I  should  say  so.  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  affirm  it; 
but  the  probabilities  point  that  way." 

"And  if  there  had  been,  let  us  say,  a  lesser  affection, 
something  of  recent  origin,  and  lower  in  every 
way " 

"I  think  that  until  it  forged  its  influence  again — if 
it  ever  did — you'd  see  it  forgotten  or  disowned." 

She  tried  to  be  even  more  explicit.  "He's  perfectly 
free,  in  every  way.  I  broke  off  my  engagement  just 
to  make  him  free.  The — ^the  other  woman,  she,  too, 
has — has  left  him " 

"So  that,"  he  summed  up,  "if  in  those  first  instants 
of  returning  to  the  world  you  could  read  his  choice 
you'd  be  relieved  of  doubts  for  the  future.'* 

Having  made  one  or  two  small  professional  recom- 
mendations he  was  about  to  go  when  Barbara's  mind 
worked  to  another  point.  "You  know,  he's  been 
very  excitable." 

"So  I've  understood.  I  go  a  good  deal  to  the 
Chancellors'.  You  know  them,  of  course.  I've  heard 
about  him  there." 

22  331 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

"Well,  then,  if  he  got  better,  is  there  anything  we 
could  do  about  that?" 

"In  a  general  way,  yes.  If  you're  gentle  with 
him " 

"Oh,  I  am." 

"And  if  you  try  to  smooth  him  down  when  you  see 
him  beginning  to  be  ruffled " 

"That's  just  what  I  do,  only  it  seems  to  excite  him 
the  more." 

"Then,  in  that  case,  I  should  say,  break  the  con- 
versation off.  Go  away  from  him.  Let  him  alone. 
Let  him  work  out  of  it.    Begin  again  later." 

"Ye-es,  only — "  she  was  wistful,  unconvinced — 
"only  later  it's  so  likely  to  be  the  same  thing  over 
again." 

He  dodged  the  further  issue  by  running  up  to  ex- 
plain to  the  nurse  Miss  Walbrook's  position  in  the 
house,  and  as  helper  in  case  of  necessity.  By  the  time 
he  had  come  down  again  Barbara's  anguish  was  visi- 
ble. "Oh,  doctor,  you  think  he  will  get  better,  don't 
you?" 

He  was  at  the  front  door.  "I  hope  he  will.  Quite 
— quite  possibly  he  will.  His  pulse  isn't  very  strong 
as  yet,  but — Well,  Dr.  Brace  and  Dr.  Wisdom  are 
coming  for  another  consultation  this  afternoon;  only 
his  condition,  you  understand,  is — ^well,  serious." 

Barbara  divined  the  malice  beneath  Steptoe's  indi- 
cations, as  he  conducted  her  upstairs.  "That  was  the 
lyte  Mrs.  Allerton's  room ;  that's  the  front  spare  room ; 
and  that's  our  present  madam's  room — ^when  she's  'ere 
— ^heach  with  its  barth.  I'm  sure  if  Miss  Walbrook 
was  inclined  to  use  the  front  spare  room  I'd  be  entirely 

332 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

welcome,  and  'ave  put  in  clean  towels,  and  everythink, 
a-purpose." 

When  Rash's  door  was  pointed  out  to  her  she 
tapped.  Miss  Gallifer  opened  it,  receiving  her  col- 
league with  a  great  big  hearty  smile.  Great,  big,  and 
hearty  were  the  traits  by  which  Miss  Gallifer  was 
known  among  the  doctors.  Healthy,  skilful,  jolly, 
and  offhand,  she  carried  the  issues  of  life  and  death, 
in  which  she  was  at  home,  with  a  lightness  which 
made  her  easy  to  work  with.  Some  nurses  would 
have  resented  the  intrusion  of  an  outsider — profes- 
sionally speaking — like  Miss  Walbrook;  but  to  Mi^ 
Gallifer  it  was  the  more  the  merrier,  even  in  the  sick- 
room. The  very  fact  of  coming  to  close  quarters  with 
the  type  she  knew  as  a  "society  girl"  added  spice  to 
the  association. 

For  the  first  few  seconds  Barbara  found  her  breezi- 
ness  a  shock.  She  had  expected  something  subdued, 
hushed,  funereal.  Miss  Gallifer  hardly  lowered  her 
voice,  which  was  naturally  loud,  or  quieted  her  man- 
ner, which,  when  off  duty,  could  be  boisterous.  It 
was  not  boisterous  now,  of  course;  only  quick,  free, 
spontaneous.    Then  Barbara  saw  the  reasorL 

There  was  no  need  to  lower  the  voice  or  quiet  the 
manner  or  soften  the  swish  of  rustling  to  and  fro, 
in  presence  of  that  still  white  form  composed  in  the 
very  attitude  of  death.  If  Barbara  hadn't  known  he 
was  alive  she  wouldn't  have  supposed  it.  She  had  seen 
dead  men  before — ^her  father,  two  brothers,  other  rela- 
tives. They  looked  like  this;  this  looked  like  them. 
She  said  this  to  herself,  and  not  he,  because  it  seemed 
the  word. 

333 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

But  by  the  time  she  had  moved  forward  and  was 
standing  by  the  bed  Miss  GalHfer's  businesslike  tone 
became  a  comfort.  You  couldn't  take  such  a  tone  if 
you  thought  there  was  danger;  and  in  spite  of  the 
hemming  and  hawing  of  the  doctors  Miss  Gallifer 
didn't  think  there  was. 

"Oh,  I've  seen  lots  of  such  cases,  and  /  say  it's  a 
simple  concussion.  Old  Wisdom,  he  doesn't  know 
anything.  I  wouldn't  consult  him  about  an  accident 
to  a  cat.  Laceration  of  the  brain  is  always  his  first 
diagnosis;  and  if  the  patient  didn't  have  it  he'd  get  it 
to  him  before  he'd  admit  that  he  was  wrong." 

Barbara  put  the  question  in  which  all  her  other 
questions  were  enfolded.  "Then  you  think  he'll  get 
better?" 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised." 

"Would  you  be  surprised — the  other  way?" 

"I  think  I  should — on  the  whole.  Pulse  is  poor. 
That's  the  worst  sign."  She  picked  up  the  hand  lying 
otitside  the  coverlet  and  put  her  finger-tips  to  the  wrist, 
doing  it  with  the  easy  nonchalant  carelessness  with 
which  she  might  have  seized  an  inanimate  object,  yet 
knowing  exactly  what  she  was  about.  "H'm !  Fifty- 
six!  That's  pretty  low.  If  we  could  get  it  above 
sixty — but  still !"  Dropping  the  hand  with  the  same 
indifference,  yet  continuing  to  know  what  she  was 
about,  Miss  Gallifer  tossed  aside  the  index  of  the  pulse 
as  wholly  non-convincing.  "I've  known  cases  where 
the  pulse  would  go  down  till  there  was  almost  no  pulse 
at  all,  and  yet  it  would  come  up  again." 

"So  that  you  feel ?" 

"Oh,  he'll  do.     I  shouldn't  worry— yet.     If  he 

334 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

wasn't  going  to  pull  through  there  would  be  some- 
thing  " 

"Something  to  tell  you  ?" 

"Well,  yes — if  you  put  it  that  way.  I  most  always 
know  with  a  patient.  It  isn't  anything  in  his  condition. 
It's  more  like  a  hunch.  There's  often  the  difference 
between  a  doctor  and  a  nurse.  The  doctor  goes  by 
what  he  sees,  the  nurse  by  what  she  feels.  Nine 
times  out  of  ten  the  doctor'U  see  wrong  and  the  nurse'U 
feel  right — and  there  you  are!  You  can't  go  by 
doctors.  A  lot  of  guess-work  gumps,  I  often  think; 
and  yet  the  laity  need  them  for  comfort." 

Making  the  most  of  all  this  Barbara  asked,  timidly : 
"Is  there  anything  I  could  do?" 

"Well,  no!  There  isn't  much  that  anyone  can  do. 
You've  just  got  to  wait.    If  you're  going  to  stay " 

"I  should  like  to." 

Then  you  can  be  somewhere  else  in  the  house  so 
that  I  could  call  you — or  you  could  sit  right  here — 
whichever  you  preferred." 

"I'd  rather  sit  right  here,  if  I  shouldn't  be  in  the 
way." 

"Oh,  when  you're  in  the  way  I'll  tell  you," 

On  this  understanding  Barbara  sat  down,  in  a  small 
low  armchair  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Miss 
Gallifer  also  sat  down,  nearer  to  the  window,  taking 
up  a  book  which,  as  Barbara  could  see  from  the 
"jacket"  on  the  cover,  bore  the  title,  The  Secret  of 
Violet  Pryde.  It  was  clear  that  there  was  nothing  to 
be  done,  since  Miss  Gallifer  could  so  easily  lose  her- 
self in  her  novel. 

Not  till  her  jumble  of  impressions  began  to  arrange 
335 


THE   DPST   FLOWER 

themselves  did  Barbara  realize  that  she  was  in  Rash's 
room,  surrounded  by  the  objects  most  intimate  to 
his  person.  Here  the  poor  boy  slept  and  dressed,  and 
lived  the  portion  of  his  Hfe  which  no  one  else  could 
share  witii  him.  In  a  sense  they  were  rifling  his 
privacy,  the  secrecy  with  which  every  human  being 
has  in  some  measure  to  surround  himself.  She  re- 
called a  day  in  her  childhood,  after  her  parents  and 
both  her  brothers  had  died,  when  their  house  with 
its  contents  was  put  up  for  sale.  She  remembered 
the  horror  with  which  she  had  seen  strangers  walk- 
ing about  in  the  rooms  sanctified  by  loved  presences, 
and  endeared  to  her  holiest  memories.  Something  of 
that  she  felt  now,  as  Miss  Gallifer  threw  aside  her 
book,  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet,  hurried  into  Rash's 
bathroom,  and  came  out  with  a  towel  slightly  damped, 
which  she  passed  over  the  patient's  brow.  She  was 
so  horribly  at  ease !  It  was  as  if  Rash  no  longer  had 
a  personality  whose  rights  one  must  respect. 

But  he  might  get  better!  Miss  Gallifer  believed 
that  he  would !  Barbara  clung  to  that  as  an  anchor  in 
this  tempest  of  emotions.  If  he  got  better  he  would 
open  his  eyes.  If  he  opened  his  eyes  it  would  be,  for 
a  little  while  at  least,  with  his  inhibitions  suspended. 
If  his  inhibitions  were  suspended  the  thing  he  most 
wanted  would  be  in  his  first  glance;  and  if  his  first 
glance  fell  on  her.  .  .  . 


Chapter  XXVI 

WAITING  was  becoming  dreamlike.  She  didn't 
find  it  tedious,  or  over-fraught  with  suspense. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  soothing.  It  was  a  little 
trance-like,  too,  almost  as  if  she  had  been  enwrapped 
in  Rash's  stillness. 

It  was  so  strange  to  see  him  still.  It  was  so  strange 
to  be  still  herself.  Of  her  own  being,  as  of  his^ 
she  had  hardly  any  concept  apart  from  the  high 
winds  of  excitement.  Calm  like  this  was  new  to  her, 
and  because  new  it  was  appeasing,  wonderful.  It 
was  not  unlike  content,  only  the  content  which  comes 
in  sleep,  to  be  broken  up  by  waking.  Somewhere  in 
her  nature  she  liked  seeing  him  as  he  was,  helpless, 
inert,  with  no  power  of  enraging  her  by  being  restive 
to  her  will.  It  was,  in  its  way,  a  repetition  of  what 
she  had  said  that  morning:  "If  he  wasn't  here — or 
if  he  was  dead!"  Longing  for  peace,  her  stormy  soul 
seemed  to  know  by  instinct  the  price  she  would  have 
to  pay  for  it.  For  peace  to  be  possible  Rash  must  pass 
out  of  her  life,  and  the  thought  of  Rash  passing  out 
of  her  life  was  agony. 

While  Miss  Gallifer  was  downstairs  at  lunch 
Barbara  had  the  sweet,  unusual  sense  of  having  him  all 
to  herself.  She  had  never  so  had  him  in  their  hours 
together  because  the  violence  of  their  clashes  had  pre- 
vented communion.  Seated  in  this  silence,  in  this 
quietude,  she  felt  him  hers.     There  was  no  one  to 

337 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

dispute  her  claim,  no  one  whose  claim  she  had  in  any 
way  to  recognize  as  superior.  Letty's  claim  she  had 
never  recognized  at  all.  It  was  accidental,  spurious. 
Letty  herself  didn't  put  it  forth — ^and  even  she  was 
gone.  If  Rash  were  to  open  his  eyes  he  would  see  no 
one  but  herself. 

She  was  sorry  when  Miss  Gallifer  came  back, 
though  there  was  no  help  for  that;  but  Miss  Gallifer 
was  obtrusive  only  when  she  chatted  or  moved 
about.  For  much  of  the  time  she  pursued  the  secret 
of  Violet  Pryde  with  such  assiduity  that  the  room 
became  quiescent,  and  communion  with  Rash  could 
be  re-established. 

The  awesome  silence  was  disturbed  only  by  the 
turning  of  Miss  Gallifer's  pages.  It  might  have  been 
three  o'clock.  Once  more  Barbara  was  lost  in  the 
unaccustomed  hush,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  white  face 
on  the  pillow,  in  almost  hypnotic  restfulness.  The 
pushing  open  of  the  door  behind  was  so  soft  that  she 
didn't  notice.     Miss  Gallifer  turned  another  page. 

It  was  the  sense  that  someone  was  in  the  room  which 
made  Barbara  glance  over  her  shoulder  and  Miss 
Gallifer  look  up.  A  little  gray  figure  in  a  battered 
black  hat  stood  just  within  the  door.  She  stood  just 
within  the  door,  but  with  no  consciousness  of  anything 
or  anyone  in  the  room.  She  saw  only  the  upturned 
face  and  its  deathlike  fixity. 

With  slow,  spellbound  movement  she  began  to  come 
forward.  Barbara,  who  had  never  seen  the  Letty 
who  used  to  be,  knew  her  now  only  by  a  terrified 
intuition.  Miss  Gallifer  was  entirely  at  a  loss,  and 
somewhat  indignant.     The  little  gray  vagrant  was 

338 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

not  of  the  type  she  had  been  used  to  treating  with 
respect. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  asked  quickly, 
as  soon  as  speech  came  to  her. 

Letty  didn't  look  at  her,  or  remove  her  eyes  from 
the  face  on  the  pillow.  A  woman  in  a  trance  could 
not  have  spoken  with  greater  detachment  or  self- 
control.     "I  came — ^to  see." 

"Well,  now  that  you've  seen,  won't  you  please  go 
away,  before  I  call  the  police?" 

Of  this  Letty  took  no  notice,  going  straight  to  the 
bedside,  while  Miss  Gallifer  moved  toward  Barbara, 
who  stood  as  she  had  risen  from  her  chair. 

"Do  you  know  who  she  is?"  Miss  GalHfer  asked, 
with  curiosity  greater  than  her  indignation. 

Barbara  nodded.  "Yes,  I  know  who  she  is.  I 
thought  she'd — disappeared." 

"Oh,  they  never  disappear  for  long — not  that  kind. 
What  had  I  better  do?    Is  she  anything — ^to  himf" 

Barbara  was  saved  the  necessity  of  answering  be- 
cause Letty,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed, 
bent  over  and  kissed  the  feet,  as  she  had  kissed  them 
once  before. 

"Is  she  dotty?"  Miss  Gallifer  whispered.  "Ought  I 
to  take  her  by  the  shoulders  and  put  her  out  the 
door?  I  could,  you  know — a  scrap  of  a  thing  like 
that." 

Barbara  whispered  back.  "I  can't  tell  you  who  she 
is,  but — but  I  wouldn't  interfere  with  her." 

"Oh,  the  doctor'll  do  that.    He'll  not " 

But  Letty  raised  herself,  addressing  the  nurse.  "Is 
he— dead?" 

339 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Miss  Gallifer's  tone  was  the  curt  caie  we  twe  to 
inferiors.    "No,  he's  not  dead." 

"Is  he  going  to  die  ?" 

"Not  this  time,  I  think." 

Letty  looked  round  her.  "Well,  I'll  just  sit  over 
here."  She  went  to  a  chair  at  the  back  of  the  room, 
in  a  corner  on  a  line  with  the  door.  "I  won't  give 
any  trouble.    The  minute  he  begins  to— to  live  I'll  go.** 

It  was  Barbara  who  arranged  the  matter  peaceably, 
mollif3dng  Miss  Gallifer.  Without  explaining  who 
Letty  was  she  insisted  on  her  right  to  remain.  If 
Miss  Gallifer  was  mystified,  it  was  no  more  than  Miss 
Towell  was,  or  anyone  else  who  touched  the  situation 
at  a  tangent.  To  that  Barbara  was  indifferent,  while 
Letty  didn't  think  of  it. 

In  rallying  her  forces  Barbara's  first  recollection  had 
been,  "I  must  be  a  sport."  With  theoretical  sporting 
instincts  she  knew  herself  the  kind  of  sport  who 
doesn't  always  run  true  to  form.  Hating  meanness 
she  could  lapse  into  the  mean,  and  toward  Letty  her- 
self had  so  lapsed.  That  accident  she  must  guard 
against.  The  issues  were  so  big  that  whatever  hap- 
pened, she  couldn't  afford  to  reproach  herself.  Self- 
reproach  would  not  only  magnify  defeat  but  poison 
success,  since,  if  she  availed  herself  of  her  advantages, 
no  success  would  ever  prove  worth  while. 

For  her  own  sake  rather  than  for  Letty's  she  made 
use  of  the  hour  while  the  doctors  were  again  in  con- 
sultation to  explain  the  possibilities.  She  would  have 
the  whole  thing  clearly  imderstood.  Whether  or  not 
Letty  did  understand  it  she  wasn't  quite  sure,  since  she 
seemed  cut  off  from  thought-communication.     She 

340 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

listened,  nodded,  was  docile  to  instructions,  but  made 
no  response. 

To  be  as  lucid  as  possible  Barbara  put  it  in  this  way : 
*'Since  you've  left  him,  and  I've  broken  my  engage- 
ment he'll  be  absolutely  free  to  choose;  and  yet,  you 
must  remember,  we  may — we  may  both  lose  him." 

That  both  should  lose  him  seemed  indeed  the  more 
probable  after  the  consultation.  All  the  doctors  looked 
grave,  even  Dr.  Lancing.  His  dinner-party  manner 
had  forsaken  him  as  he  talked  to  Barbara,  his  emphasis 
being  thrown  on  the  word  "prepared."  It  was  still 
one  of  those  cases  in  which  you  couldn't  tell,  though 
so  far  the  symptoms  were  not  encouraging.  He  felt 
himself  bound  in  honor  to  say  as  much  as  that,  hop- 
ing, however,  for  the  best. 

Closing  the  front  door  on  him  Barbara  felt  herself 
shaken  by  a  frightful  possibility.  If  he  never  regained 
consciousness  that  would  "settle  it."  The  suspense 
would  be  over.  Her  fate  would  be  determined.  She 
would  no  longer  have  to  wonder  and  doubt,  to  strive 
or  to  cry.  No  longer  would  she  run  the  risk  of  seeing 
another  woman  get  him.  She  would  find  that  which 
her  tempestuous  nature  craved  before  everything — rest, 
peace,  release  from  the  impulse  to  battle  and  dominate. 
Not  by  words,  not  so  much  as  by  thought,  but  only 
in  wild  emotion  she  knew  that,  as  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned, it  might  be  better  for  him  to  die.  If  he  lived, 
and  chose  herself,  the  storm  would  only  begin  again. 
If  he  lived  and  chose  the  other.  .  .  . 

But  as  to  that  she  could  see  no  reasonable  prospecti, 
She  had  only  to  look  at  Letty,  shrinking  in  her  corner 
of  the  bedroom,  to  judge  any  such  mischance  impos- 

341 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

sible.  She  was  so  humble ;  so  negligible ;  so  much  a 
bit  of  flotsam  of  the  streets.  She  had  an  appeal  of 
her  own,  of  course;  but  an  appeal  so  lowly  as  to  be 
obscured  by  the  wayside  dust  which  covered  it.  What 
was  the  flower  to  which  Rash  had  now  and  then  com- 
pared her?  Wasn't  that  what  he  called  it — the  dust 
flower? — that  ragged  blue  thing  of  byways  and  back- 
yards, which  you  couldn't  touch  without  washing  your 
hands  afterwards.  No,  no !  Not  even  the  legal  tie 
which  nominally  bound  them  could  hold  in  the  face  of 
this  inequality.    It  would  be  too  grotesque. 

The  hours  passed.  The  night  nurse  was  now  in- 
stalled, and  was  reading  Keith  Macdermot's  Destiny. 
She  was  one  of  those  tall,  slender  women  whom  you 
see  to  be  all  bone.  As  businesslike  as  Miss  Gallifer, 
and  quite  as  detached,  Miss  Moines  was  brisk  and  sys- 
tematic. It  being  her  habit  to  subdue  a  household  to 
herself  before  she  entered  on  her  duties  her  eyes  re- 
garded Miss  Walbrook  and  Letty  with  the  startled 
glance  of  a  horse's. 

For  before  going  Miss  Gallifer  had  given  her  a  hint. 
"You'll  have  to  do  a  lot  of  side-stepping  here.  This 
is  the  famous  House  of  Mystery.  You'll  find  two 
nuts  upstairs — ^that's  what  I'd  call  them  if  they  were 
men — but  they're  women — girls,  sort  of — and  you've 
just  got  to  leave  them  alone.  One's  a  high-stepper — 
regular  society — ^was  engaged  to  the  patient  and  now 
acts  as  if  she'd  married  him ;  and  the  other — well,  per- 
haps you  can  make  her  out;  I  can't.  Seems  a  little 
oflF.  May  be  the  poor  castaway,  once  loved,  and  now 
broken-hearted  but  faithful,  you  read  about  in  books. 
Anyhow,  there  they  are,  and  you'd  best  let  them  be. 

342 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

It  won't  be  for  more  than — well,  I  give  him  twenty- 
four  hours  at  the  most.  I  begin  to  think  that  for  once 
old  Wisdom  is  right.  Good-looker  too,  poor  fellow, 
and  can't  be  more  than  thirty-five,  I  wonder  what 
could  have  happened?  I  suppose  they'll  go  into  that 
at  the  inquest." 

But  Miss  Moines  was  too  systematic  to  have  com- 
panions in  the  room  without  marshaling  them  to  some 
form  of  duty.  They  needed  to  eat;  they  needed  to 
sleep.  Now  and  then  someone  had  to  go  out  on  the 
landing  and  comfort  or  reassure  Steptoe,  who  sat  on 
the  attic  stairs  like  a  grief -stricken  dog. 

Letty  was  the  first  to  consent  to  go  and  lie  down. 
She  did  so  about  nine  o'clock,  extracting  a  promise 
that  whatever  happened  she  would  be  called  at  twelve. 
If  there  was  any  change  in  the  meantime — ^but  that, 
Miss  Moines  assured  her,  was  understood  in  all  such 
ride-and-tie  arrangements.  At  twelve  Letty  was  to 
return  and  Barbara  lie  down  till  three,  with  the  same 
proviso  in  case  of  the  unexpected.  But,  so  to  put  it, 
the  unexpected  seemed  improbable,  in  view  of  that 
rigid  form,  and  the  white,  upturned  face. 

"And  yet,"  Miss  Moines  confided  to  Barbara,  "I 
don't  think  he's  as  far  gone  as  they  think.  Miss  Galli- 
f  er  only  changed  her  mind  when  they  talked  her  round. 
A  doctor  just  sees  the  patient  in  glimpses,  whereas  a 
nurse  lives  with  him,  and  knows  what  he  can  stand." 

About  eleven  Miss  Moines  closed  Keith  Macder- 
mot's  Destiny,  and  took  the  pulse.  She  nodded  as  she 
did  so,  with  a  slight  exclamation  of  triumph.  "Ah, 
ha !  Fifty-eight !  That's  the  first  good  sign.  It  may 
not  mean  anything,  but " 

343 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

Barbara  was  too  exhausted  to  feel  more  than  a 
gleam  of  comfort.  The  lassitude  being  emotional 
rather  than  physical  Miss  Moines  detected  it  easily 
enough,  and  sent  her  to  rest  before  the  hour  agreed 
upon.  She  went  the  more  willingly,  since  the  pulse 
had  risen  and  hope  could  begin  once  more. 

On  the  stairs  Steptoe  raised  his  bowed  head,  with 
a  dazed  stare.  Seeing  Miss  Walbrook  he  stumbled  to 
his  feet. 

"  'Ow  is  *e  now,  miss  ?" 

She  told  him  the  good  news. 

"Ah,  thank  God !    Perhaps  after  all  'Ell  spare  'im." 

Steptoe  informed  Letty,  who  right  on  the  stroke  of 
midnight  returned  to  her  post.  "Pulse  gone  up  two 
of  them  degrees,  madam.    'E's  goin'  to  pull  through  !'* 

To  Letty  this  was  a  signal.  On  going  to  rest  in  the 
little  back  spare  room  she  had  thrown  off  her  street 
things,  worn  during  all  the  hours  of  watching,  and 
put  on  the  dressing  gown  she  had  left  there  a  few 
nights  earlier.  She  was  still  wearing  it,  but  at  Step- 
toe's  news  she  went  back  again.  On  passing  him  the 
second  time  she  was  clad  in  the  old  gray  rag  and  the 
battered  hat  in  which  it  would  be  easier  to  escape. 
Steptoe  said  nothing;  but  he  nodded  to  himself  com- 
prehendingly. 

A  clock  struck  two.  Miss  Moines  was  hungry. 
Expecting  to  be  hungry  she  had  had  a  small  tray,  with 
what  she  called  a  "lunch,"  placed  for  her  in  the  dining- 
room.  Had  there  been  immediate  danger  she  would 
not  have  left  her  post ;  but  with  Letty  there  she  saw  no 
harm  in  taking  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  to  conserve  her 
strength. 

344 


THE    DUST    FLOWER 

For  the  first  time  in  all  those  hours  Letty  was  alone 
with  him.  Not  expecting  to  be  so  left  she  was  at  first 
frightened,  then  audacious.  Except  for  the  one  time 
when  she  had  approached  the  bedside  and  kissed  his 
feet  she  had  remained  in  her  corner,  watching  with  the 
silent,  motionless  intentness  of  a  little  animal.  Her 
eyes  hardly  ever  left  the  white  face;  but  at  this  dis- 
tance even  the  white  face  was  dim. 

Now  she  was  possessed  by  a  great  daring.  She 
would  steal  to  the  bedside  again.  Again  she  would 
see  the  beloved  features  clearly.  Again  she  would 
have  the  amazing  bliss  of  kissing  the  coverlet  that 
covered  the  dear  feet.  When  Miss  Moines  returned 
she  would  be  back  again  in  her  comer,  as  if  she  had 
never  left  it.  If  the  pulse  rose  higher,  if  there  was 
further  hope,  if  he  seemed  to  be  reviving,  she  could 
slip  away  in  the  confusion  of  their  joy. 

She  rose  and  listened.  The  house  was  as  still  as  it 
had  been  at  other  times  when  she  had  listened  in  the 
night.    She  glided  to  the  bed. 

He  lay  as  if  he  had  been  carved  in  stone,  propped  up 
with  pillows  to  make  breathing  easier,  his  arms  out- 
side the  coverlet.  He  was  a  little  as  he  had  been  on  the 
morning  when  she  had  passed  her  hand  across  his 
brow.  As  then,  too,  his  hair  rose  in  tongues  of 
diabolic  flame. 

She  was  near  him.  She  was  bending  over  him. 
She  was  bending  not  above  his  feet,  but  above  his 
head.  She  knew  how  mad  she  was,  but  she  couldn't 
help  herself.  Stooping — stooping — closer — closer — 
her  lips  touched  the  forked  black  mane  of  his  hair. 

She  leaped  back.  She  leaped  not  only  because  of 
345 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Her  own  boldness,  but  because  be  seemed  to  stir.  It 
was  as  if  this  kiss,  so  light,  so  imperceptible,  had  sent 
a  galvanic  throbbing  through  his  frame.  She  herself 
felt  it,  as  now  and  then  in  winter  she  had  felt  an 
electric  spark. 

Her  sin  had  found  her  out.  She  was  terrified.  He 
lay  just  as  he  had  lain  before — only  not  quite — not 
quite!  His  arms  were  not  just  as  they  had  been;  the 
coverlet  was  slightly,  ever  so  slightly,  disturbed.  The 
nurse  would  see  it  and  know  that.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  stirring  of  a  hand.  It  was  s(f  little  of 
a  stirring  that  she  thought  her  eyes  must  have  de- 
ceived her  when  it  stirred  again — a  restless  toss,  like  a 
muscular  contraction  in  sleep.  She  was  not  alarmed 
now,  only  excited,  and  wondering  what  she  ought  to 
do.  She  ought  to  run  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
call  Miss  Moines,  only  that  she  couldn't  bring  her- 
self to  leave  him. 

Then,  as  she  stood  in  her  attitude  of  doubt,  the  eyes 
opened  and  looked  at  her.  They  looked  at  her  straight, 
and  yet  glassily.  They  looked  at  her  with  no  gladness 
in  the  look,  almost  with  no  recognition.  If  anything 
there  was  a  kind  of  sickness  there,  as  if  the  finding  her 
by  his  bedside  was  a  disappointment. 

"I  know  what  it  is,"  she  said  to  herself.  "He  wants 
—her." 

But  the  eyes  closed  again.  The  face  was  as  white, 
the  profile  as  rigid,  as  ever. 

She  sped  to  Barbara,  who  was  lying  on  a  couch  in 
the  front  spare  room.  "Come!  He  woke  up!  He 
wants  you !" 

Back  in  the  bedroom  she  effaced  herself.  They 
346 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

were   all   there   now — Barbara,    Steptoe,    and   Miss 
Moines. 

"It's  what  he  would  do,"  Miss  Moines  corroborated, 
"if  he  was  coming  back." 

Letty  had  told  part  of  what  she  had  seen,  but  only 
part  of  it.  The  rest  was  her  secret.  The  little  mer- 
maid's kiss  had  left  the  prince  as  inanimate  as  before; 
hers  had  brought  him  back  to  life ! 

It  was  the  moment  to  run  away.  Miss  Moines  had 
said  that  having  once  opened  his  eyes  he  would  open 
them  again.  When  he  did  he  mustn't  find  her  there. 
They  were  all  so  intent  on  watching  that  this  was  her 
opportunity. 

They  were  all  so  intent — ^but  Steptoe.  She  was 
buttoning  her  jacket  when  she  saw  his  eyes  steal  round 
in  her  direction.  A  second  later  he  had  tiptoed  back 
into  the  hall,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

It  was  vexing,  but  not  fatal.  He  had  probably  gone 
for  something.  While  he  was  getting  it  she  would 
elude  him.  One  thing  was  certain — she  couldn't  face 
the  look  of  disappointment  in  those  sick  dark  eyes 
again.  She  opened  the  door.  She  shut  it  noiselessly 
behind  her.    Steptoe  wasn't  there,  and  the  way  was  free. 

Barbara  stood  just  where  Letty  had  described  her- 
self as  standing  when  the  eyes  had  given  her  that 
glassy  stare.  To  herself  she  seemed  to  st'^.nd  there  for 
ever,  though  the  time  could  be  counted  in  minutes. 
The  pounding  of  her  heart  was  like  a  pulsating  of 
the  house. 

The  eyes  opened  again.    They  opened,  first  wearily, 
and  then  with  a  fretful  light  which  seemed  to  be 
searching  for  what  they  couldn't  find. 
23  347 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

Barbara  stood  still. 

There  was  another  stirring  of  the  hand,  irritated, 
impatient.  A  little  moan  or  groan  was  distinctly  of 
complaint.  The  eyes  having  rolled  hither  and  thither 
helplessly,  the  head  turned  slowly  on  the  pillow  so 
as  to  see  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"He's  looking  for  something  that  he  misses,"  Miss 
Moines  explained,  wonderingly.  "What  do  you  sup- 
pose it  can  be  ?" 

"He  wants — her.'* 

Barbara  found  her  at  the  street  door,  pleading  with 
Steptoe,  who  actually  held  her  by  the  arm.  The  loud 
whisper  down  the  stairs  was  a  cry  as  well  as  a 
command. 

"Come!" 

At  the  bedroom  door  they  parted.  With  a  light  in- 
stinctive push  Barbara  forced  Letty  to  go  back  to  the 
spot  on  which  she  had  stood  earlier.  She  herself  went 
to  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  only  to  find  that  the  head, 
in  which  the  eyes  were  closed  again,  was  now  turned 
that  way. 

As  if  aware  that  some  mysterious  decision  was  ap- 
proaching Miss  Moines  kept  herself  in  the  back- 
ground. Steptoe  had  hardly  advanced  from  the 
threshold.  Neither  of  the  women  by  the  bedside 
seemed  to  breathe. 

When  the  eyes  opened  for  the  third  time  the  intelli- 
gence in  them  was  keener.  On  Barbara  they  rested 
long,  quietly,  kindly,  till  memory  came  back. 

With  memory  there  was  again  that  restless  stirring, 
that  complaining  moan.  Once  more,  slowly,  distress- 
fully, the  head  turned  on  the  pillow. 

348 


THE    DUST   FLOWER 

On  Letty  the  long,  quiet,  kindly  regard  lay  as  it  had 
lain  on  Barbara.  They  waited;  but  in  the  look  there 
was  no  more  than  that. 

From  two  hearts  two  silent  prayers  were  going  up. 

"Oh,  God,  end  it  somehow — and  let  me  have  peace!" 

"Oh,  God,  make  him  live  again — and  give  them  to 
each  other!" 

Then,  when  no  one  was  expecting  it,  a  faint  smile 
quivered  on  the  lips,  as  if  the  returning  mind  saw 
something  long  desired  and  comforting.  Faintly, 
feebly,  unsteadily,  the  hands  were  raised  toward  the 
dust  flower.  The  lips  moved,  enough  to  form  dumbly 
the  one  word,  "Come !" 

The  invitation  was  beyond  crediting.  Letty  trem- 
bled, and  shrank  back. 

But  from  the  support  of  the  pillow  the  whole  figure 
leaned  forward.  The  hands  were  lifted  higher,  more 
firmly  and  more  longingly.  Strength  came  with  the 
need  for  strength.  A  smile  which  was  of  life,  not 
death,  beamed  on  the  features  and  brought  color  to 
the  face  which  had  all  these  hours  seemed  carved 
in  stone. 

"He'll  do  now,"  the  nurse  threw  off,  professionally. 
"He'll  be  up  in  a  few  days." 

It  was  Barbara  who  gave  the  sign  to  both  Steptoe 
and  Miss  Moines.  By  the  imperiousness  of  her 
gesture  and  her  uplifted  head  she  swept  them  out  be- 
fore her.  H  she  was  leaving  all  behind  her  she  was 
leaving  it  superbly ;  but  she  wasn't  leaving  all.  Back 
of  her  tumultuous  passions  a  spirit  was  crying  to 
her  spirit,  "Now  you'll  get  what  you  want  far  more 
than  you  want  this — rest  from  vain  desire." 

349 


THE   DUST   FLOWER 

Letty  approached  the  bedside  slowly,  as  if  drawn  by 
an  enchantment.  To  the  outstretched  hands  she 
stretched  out  hers.  The  door  was  closed,  and  once 
more  she  was  alone  with  him. 

But  neither  saw  that  for  the  space  of  a  few  inches 
the  closed  door  was  opened  again,  and  that  an  old 
profile  peered  within.  Then,  as  slowly,  slowly,  slowly, 
Letty  sank  on  her  knees,  bowing  her  head  on  the  hands 
which  drew  her  closer,  and  closer  still,  a  pair  of  old 
lips  smiled  contentedly. 

When  the  head  drew  back,  the  door  was  closed 
again. 


THE  END 


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